


Hide, Hide Yourself for Now-Book 1

by Chisza (RCoots)



Series: Hide, Hide Yourself For Now [1]
Category: Firefly, Pitch Black (2000)
Genre: F/M, Lord Marshall - Freeform, Riverick, Serenity - Freeform, cryo, firefly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 100,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RCoots/pseuds/Chisza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riddick has no intention of remaining as Lord Marshal. In a hunt across the galaxy for a place to bury his dead and shake the last of the Necros, he stops to investigate a drifting ship of unknown origin and finds himself with a new kind of crazy on his hands. M for language, imagery, and probability of upcoming lemons. Eventual Riverick. Read and review and I shall love you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

Ch. 1

_We caught you plotting murder_  
And now the tide is turning  
We'll light our souls, heal our bones  
Upon your empire burning

_“Spy Hunter”, Project 86_

                It took the better part of a year and enough blood to paint the throne room red ten times over before Riddick had the Necromongers where he wanted them.  To say he’d lost the majority of the command ranks would be claiming responsibility for them, and that was a thing he’d never asked for.  Instead, he chose to look at is as culling. Those stupid enough to challenge him, thinking that just because he didn’t have two fucking scars on either side of his neck he wasn’t fit to rule them, those were the first to die. Their mistake in thinking that he wouldn’t have been able to kill Zhylaw if Vaako hadn’t made his play led them to believe that they could take him. None of what they thought mattered. He cut down every challenger who came forward and walked over their bodies as he went about the business of taking control.  Of sinking deeper into the pit and aiming for the bear trap at the bottom. Because that’s what the whole fucking mess was. A new sort of prison. One he’d get out of eventually.

                 But first…

                 He’d made his final point just before he ordered the departure of the Armada from the known sectors of the Arm. Preparations had been underway, he’d gotten Imam’s woman and her daughter packed off in a scout vessel with a contingent of guards and a pile of valuables to start them off in a new life on the closest bit of true civilization he could manage. The guards would drop her off safely on threat of their deaths coming quicker than they wanted and then catch up with the giant warbeast that was the Armada as it made its slow way across space. It was the last living tie he needed to cut before he took his dead and those who wished to be dead and dropped them off the edge of the known Universe. Preferably without him, because there was no way in Hell he’d walk quietly to whatever kind of death it was that let something like his predecessor come back.

                 No. Way. In. Hell.

                 So he’d been satisfied that things were going according to the sketch of a plan that he’d put together, headed for his quarters and the comfort of their darkness, when someone slithered up behind him and tried to put a shiv in his ribs. It wasn’t really a shiv. Too finely crafted for that, but he didn’t care enough to call it a knife. And the way it was being used made it a shiv anyways.  He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention. He saw his attacker nearly every day, smelled her everywhere. She’d tried to go through his quarters, as if he had anything he cared about in there anyways.  So far she’d stuck to trying to get her husband to make some sort of assassination attempt, but something must have driven her over the edge this time. If there ever had been an edge for this crazy bitch in the first place. He wondered sometimes if she hadn’t _thrown_ herself at the Necros when they arrived on her world and begged for the power they could give her.

                At that moment though, none of it mattered. None of it even occurred to him. He did what he always did, let the animal take over and keep him from getting more than a scrape along the rib bones as he twisted and backhanded her all in one motion. He caught her as she spun, wrapped one arm around her torso and the other hand around her jaw, and gave a sharp twist, using the pent up momentum and speed of both their attacks to snap her neck.  That’s when it registered with his thinking mind, who _exactly_ it was that had tried to fuck with him. Snarling, he’d drug the body behind him as he headed for her quarters, well aware of the fact that every Necro in eyesight was watching. Blood was starting to trickle down his side, but he was wearing black, and it was more likely to pool in his boot than leave trace on the floor. Vaako had been in his quarters, and Riddick hadn’t really given a damn what he was doing. It had been what was about to happen that was mattered. He’d dropped his burden in the center of the first room, leathery dress puddling around her and the hair he’d been dragging her by splayed over the floor in a wild tangle of undone braids. And then he’d waited, watching the expressions chasing themselves over his last remaining Commander’s face, smelling the corresponding scents. Shock, anger, and finally resignation each had their turn. After a long moment, the man had straightened, fist hitting his chest and barking “Loyalty to Underverse come,” in a semi-strangled voice. Riddick had simply nodded and left.  Now that he had the absolute loyalty of the one man who could have posed a real threat, his sketchy plan for escape had crystalized a little further.  It had always been easier when it was just him in the relatively known quantity of a slam. Funny how he almost missed those days.

                Now here he was, drifting in space and still not free.  He had a pack of Necromonger dogs that Vaako had saddled him with before he’d agree to take the rest of the Armada on towards the Threshold and Kyra’s body in cryo along for the ride.   So far he hadn’t found a planet that seemed right to set her down on.  This part of the Arm was full of planets that had been capable of sustaining life. Until the Necros had come through. Now they were mainly wastelands. Or they had been. Furya had been the last charted planet in the quadrant he’d left just over a year ago, and everything since then had been new and unknown. A few planets had had water and breathable air. They’d stopped, if only to refresh the oxygen scrubbers and supplies. Necro ships, even the smaller Destroyers like the one he’d been saddled with, could travel through space nearly indefinitely so long as they could keep water and 02 losses to an absolute minimum, but restocking was always wise. He didn’t intend to stop for good until he’d done two things. First, find a place to set Kyra down, a place where the planet itself didn’t try to kill anything that set foot on it. He had no idea who she’d been or where she’d come from before boarding the Hunter-Gatzner all those years ago, but he knew twelve year old girls didn’t travel alone and disguised as boys just for the hell of it. She may not even deserve peace, but he wasn’t leaving her body with the Necros and he wasn’t just going to dump her again.

                Secondly, he needed to get rid of these fucking guards. Guards. For him! It was insulting and funny as hell all at the same time. He wasn’t sure if Vaako had told them to try to drag him back if it looked like he was skipping out or if the man was actually worried that he’d land on some other planet full of monsters and need the cannon fodder to cover his ass. Either way, it had been the first time the Commander had openly argued with him since his wife’s body had been dropped in the middle of their quarters. He’d almost killed the man, but he needed someone to keep the Armada in check as they traveled, keep them from destroying any more planets on their way through occupied space.  But Vaako had sworn _absolute_ loyalty, and had taken every opportunity to prove it. So, growling, Riddick had accepted the Destroyer and its crew along with the company of guards. Maybe he’d just blow the thing up once he’d set Kyra down. He hadn’t figured that part out yet.

                A hissing crackle at his elbow warned him to hit the volume on the comm just before the navigator’s scratchy voice deafened him in the echoing room. “Lord Marshall Sir, there’s something you should see.”

Riddick growled and thumbed the toggle. “Coming.” Giving the fair skin and dark hair under the glass one last look, the big man turned and left the hold, lowering his goggles as he went. These Necros might keep things dim in the halls and personal spaces, but the bridge was always lit up like Helion and it was too dangerous to have them lower the lights just so he could see. Plus, the goggles made them nervous.

                He was still smirking to himself when he entered the bridge and leaned over the navigator’s shoulder. The man’s scent bloomed in his nose, apprehension and worry like someone dripping a citrus fruit into his nasal cavities. He lifted a lip in a silent snarl before backing off, just a bit. Oddly, the scent didn’t change like it usually did after he’d made his dominance play. Frowning, he leaned forward again, and the navigator shifted just enough to give a clearer view of the screen.  “What’s that,” Riddick growled, reaching forward and homing in on the floating dot in the center. It wasn’t an asteroid, or meteors.  For a moment his mind flashed to a ship shaking and rattling as bits of comet debris punched through the hull and into the cryo boxes around him. He dismissed it immediately.  No comets around. No planets nearby to land and get eaten on.  He tried to zoom again, but the visual sensors were at their limits. Switching over, he ran signals, heat, and finally infrared scanners. Their range varied, but it was the external comms that finally netted results. Three long staticky beeps, three short, and three long. A burst of some unintelligible language, and then the beeps again. Frowning, he leaned back to study the screen. The distress code meant a ship, which meant humans of some sort or another. A year’s travel past the known occupied areas of space and they’d found a ship in distress. What were the odds?

                Curiosity had always gotten him in more trouble than he could keep track of and he had a feeling that it was going to be his downfall eventually, but he’d never been one to overlook opportunities to escape, and half the time it was his curiosity that had helped him find those openings and weaknesses in the walls around him. Right now he had the feeling that he was looking at his way out and away from these necrophiliac freaks.  Growling to himself in satisfaction, he clapped a hand on the navigator’s shoulder. The man rocked, his fear scent bloomed again, and then steadied. “Let’s go check it out,” the Lord Marshall rumbled.

                 Necromongers, Riddick had discovered, were not above hijacking converts straight out of space flight. The Destroyer class ships especially had been built for such and not for the first time he wondered at Vaako’s choice of ship to send his Lord Marshall off into the deeps. It couldn’t take other vessels on board, unless they were about the size of the planet hoppers mercs tended to favor, but it had an adaptive seal that could lock on to pretty much anything from a trade frigate to a large military cruiser.  Guns mounted in a double line forward to aft ensured the cooperation of enemy vessels, knocked them off course and their passengers out of cryo and into a state of fear that nine times out of ten all but guaranteed fresh batches of converts willing to throw themselves at any hope of escape from their stranded vessels. At the time of departure, Riddick had appreciated the guns, scorned the need for the seals, and completely trashed the Conversion chambers. He wasn’t on a recruitment hunt and he’d made his point abundantly clear to the one cleric who’d managed to bluster his way on board. The man had been left back on a planet with little soil, much salt water, and freakishly erratic tides. If he was still alive it was only by heading as far inland as he could manage and praying for fresh water somewhere. It was more than others had gotten.

                Now the big man found himself grateful for the seals, as the ship they were approaching looked nothing like any he’d ever seen. Sleek lines and flaring wings reminded him of some of the deep sea flyer fish he’d seen pictures of here and there.  Squared off slightly where the tail should have been, a hatch was obvious; and it was to the rim around it that the seal of the Destroyer was adapting itself, plates of dark metal sliding and grinding before the rubberized sheath slipped out and molded itself to the framework provided. Standing there, twenty Necros at his back, Riddick had a realization. There was a keypad set into the hatch, covered in numbers he recognized and characters he didn’t. Patterns of sharp lines mocked him as he growled under his breath and tried to think. A large button next to a tiny blinking light seemed as good a risk as any and he stabbed at it with one finger, already bracing himself for an explosion. Instead something beeped, a feminine voice spoke to him in that strange language again, and the doors of the unknown vessel hissed open, leaving Riddick and his men staring into a small cargo bay turned to hell.

                  The rusty tang of dried blood assaulted his nose, and he could tell that at some point someone had been gutted. He didn’t take off his goggles, the bright emergency lights that flashed around the edges of the bay made the dark/light ratio too erratic for his unshielded vision. Pools and splashes of darker color painted the room in erratic loops and squiggles. In the center of the floor was a larger puddle, and he looked up to see the origin. Face a rictus of pain around the spear protruding from her mouth, pale skin hanging in patches and flaps around her abdomen and splayed legs, the woman hung, supported by not only the spear that had been rammed through her from nethers to nose but by the chains through her ankles as well. A man dangled from each like some obscene sort of jewelry, one skewered through the stomach and the other looking like he’d been gaffed in the ass. Dried blood coated them all, and only extreme self-control kept Riddick from holding his nose at the stench. He’d smelled worse, but that was usually in the slam, and not along with a formerly living version of some of the statues that decorated Necropolis. Behind him he could hear the Necros shifting, and he dredged up a smirk.  They might have bad taste in art, but when it came to actual fighting they killed and moved on, not leaven even their enemies to linger long at Death’s door. They’d wanted as many left alive and intact as they could manage, to fatten the ranks, but had no use for those dead or dying. A line drifted through his head, remember from some long ago book in the long ago Ranger training. Something about Davy Jones and a ship crewed by the dead. It fit the Necros to a T.

                 Figuring he’d let his men stew long enough, a growled and turned. “Search the ship. Supplies, signs of life.” He snagged the mousy navigator by the elbow as the warriors moved around him. “Origin. Where did it come from?” The man nodded and stepped around him, jaw set and determinedly _not_ looking at the gruesome chandelier. Riddick followed more slowly, examining as he went. A weight bench in one corner and stacks of shipping crates in another. A locker proved full of weapons, mainly unfamiliar guns. A small box in the corner held clear bullets full of a translucent liquid. Frowning, he kept one of bullets and set the box down before starting to sort through the guns, hunting for the one that looked like it would take the ammo. An empty rack answered his question, but before he could go any further in his investigation the comm on his wrist beeped. “Lord Marshall Sir,” came the voice of the navigator. “I believe I have found some answers. The bridge is directly forward of the cargo bay Sir.” Something in the man’s voice quivered and Riddick snarled silently to himself. More fear smell on top of old blood and ruptured bowels.  Just what he needed.

                 The bridge was tiny; barely room enough for one, and no copilot chair in sight. The parts of the wall that weren’t windows were covered in panels and banks of dimly lit screens. Over those was a man, staked by hands and feet, with dried intestines hanging out of his abdomen like a particularly grisly garland. Riddick stepped around the mess on the floor and slipped in next to the pilot’s seat, where the navigator was working furiously. “Well,” he rumbled, crossing his arms.

                 The man looked up, and then keyed up the screen. “Sir, it appears that the vessel is human in origin. Most likely from the first people of the Exodus from Earth.” His lip lifted in silent scorn for a people who fled their home rather than taking their rightful deaths, but in the next moment his face was smooth again. “I am unclear as to the second language, but the first appears to be a form of-“

                "Common,” Riddick interrupted, and leaned over for a closer look. Sure enough, mixed in among the sharp lines and squared off characters were a few familiar words. Frowning, he looked at the navigator. “Hound?”

                “It appears to be the name of the ship my lord. From what I can tell,” a few more buttons and a dial turned. “This was a mercenary vessel carrying cargo. The captain’s log cuts off abruptly. I cannot read the rest of it, but the last word is in Common.” The man turned to look at his leader. “Reavers.”

                Riddick frowned and sat back, eyeing the man who’d been crucified to the wall and ceiling. That explained the guns. And probably the strange bullet too. Tranq guns. The missing space in the gun locker had been about big enough for something long range. So why had it been missing? There wasn’t enough space on this boat to turn around properly, much less need a long range gun. What could they be carrying that they thought they still needed to keep it under, even in cryo?

                That brought another realization. A quick glance around the cabin confirmed it. No cuffs. No tubes. No vials of cryo drugs. Frowning, he turned to the Necro in the pilot’s chair. “Have they found the cryo equipment yet?”

                That startled the man. He jerked around, seeing for the first time what had already been noticed. Riddick curled a lip. Necros. Fools. They didn’t travel in cryo. Their vessels were too slow, the grav drives on them didn’t play the same havoc on the body that supra light travel did. Even if it did, they’d probably enjoy it. Either way, the rest of the known universe _did_ use cryo for space travel. Why didn’t this ship? Growling, Riddick pushed past the man and started his own search, poking is nose in hatches and down the short halls. The boat smelled lived in. There was a galley, bunks, even a head that proved they were up and around enough to want and take showers, short as they may be with the limited water possible on this thing.  All the smells were old, stale, and covered over with the continuous stench of old blood, but he couldn’t seem to find any sign of cryo during travel.

                It was a whiff of antiseptic that proved him wrong. His men had obviously missed the spot, searching for the obvious and not thinking to look for cubby holes and hiding places. He’d just wandered out of the tiny infirmary and back out into the equally tiny cargo bay when the floor thunked hollowly under him and the movement of the grate stirred the air enough for him to smell it. And hear it. Old sweat, the antiseptic, drugs of some sort. And a faint heartbeat. He turned, just to make sure it wasn’t the infirmary fooling his senses, but the room was just as stale and copper tasting as the rest of the boat.  A few steps got him off the section of decking that had rocked and he crouched for closer inspection. He could hear his men coming up behind him and growled to himself. Metal boots on metal decking were not a good combination for quiet. Waving them to a stop, he bent over and sniffed. The scent was stronger down here, and he could see tiny divots along the edge of the metal plate. His fingers were too big, so he unsheathed one of his big curved shivs from his belt and went to work. One of the more enterprising of his men caught on and knelt to work on the opposing side of the plate with his own blade. Between the two of them they got it loosened enough for fingers to slip under. Riddick met the man’s eyes with his goggles and nodded. As one they lifted. The plate caught on some hidden hooks and brought them up short. The Necro stumbled, but Riddick merely snarled and gave a wrench, snapping the restraints as he did so. The solder lurched forward but caught his end and together they set the plate aside.  The smell hit him like a slap in the face and he wondered briefly if there’d been some sort of hermetic seal on the hidden compartment, damaged during the struggle with whatever had attacked this ship. Frowning, he stared down into the hole, peeling back his goggles for a better look.

                It was a box. Or a coffin.  It could have been either. But the blinking lights on one corner of its surface and the heartbeat he could hear even louder now argued against the coffin theory. Was this their cryo then? It was probably their cargo, considering the care they’d taken to hide it from a casual observer. Were they mercs or were they smugglers? Slavers? Riddick snorted to himself and shrugged. It didn’t really matter one way or the other. Now he had someone to answer his questions. Provided they could wake whoever-the-fuck-it-was up. Stepping back, he gestured at his men. “Get it out,” he growled. “And be careful.”

                “Sir,” asked the Necro who’d helped him get the decking up. Riddick snarled at him as he pulled his goggles down and moved out of the way, further into the cargo bay. The man didn’t argue further. A fist to his chest in salute and he turned back to the hole and its contents as the warriors tried to figure out how to get the box out. Riddick snorted and went back to the weapons locker, leaving half his attention to his men while the other half started looking for hidden catches and levers.  Had to be something else hidden in here if the guns were so easy to get to.

                He’d emptied the thing of guns and lifted the racks by the time the men got the box out. He was in the middle of pulling the back panel from the locker, revealing an impressive set of shivs and was that a _sword_ , when the thud and scrape of the box on the floor behind him caught his attention.  Frowning, he drifted back over to the group, which was now made up of his entire contingent, the others having come back to report and gotten pulled into the effort to free the box and its mysterious contents instead. Something about the scent had changed, but it was hard to pin down between the smell of the bay and the Necros. Growling an order, he got the men to stand still while he listened. Sure enough, the heartbeat was louder. Still slow, but steadily rising. He cocked his head and leaned over the box, resting his hands on either side of the display readout as he tried to pin the scent down as well. It wasn’t acrid or acid like fear, or burning like anger. Like cool water, it threaded through the drugs, antiseptic, mint, and sweat. If he’d had to take a guess, he’d almost say it was anticipation, but without a baseline read on whoever it was, he couldn’t say for sure. One way to find out.

                Stepping back he nodded at his men. “Open it.”

                Four of them stepped forward, ceremonial blades ready to dig into the seams and pry, but before they could complete the action, the navigator stepped out of the hall he’d been lurking in and came into the light. “My Lord, if I may?”

                Riddick turned and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

               The slim man held up what looked to be a data pad in one hand, shining with words both familiar and unfamiliar. “I believe this may work better.” That said, he glanced at the pad, centered it over the display on the box, and slid it into place with a soft click. In his other hand he held…a hand. Riddick snorted as the navigator pressed the hand of the dead man who must have captained the ship to the data pad. It beeped, blinked, and a tinny voice said “Palm print accepted. Cryo disengaging in three…two…”

               With a click and a hiss the seal let loose and the top half of the box lifted a few milimeters. The navigator stepped back to let the warriors closer and soon the lid had been removed and set aside. Riddick shoved his way into the mass of armored men, all of whom seemed to have forgotten the threat at their backs in their interest in what lay in front of them. He growled and that seemed to shock the remaining Necros into remembering he was there, because they parted for him. Still rumbling, he stared down into the box, inhaling deeply and trying to figure out the meaning of the scent of cool water.

               He didn’t have long to wait. Just as he reached the foot of the box its occupant’s eyes popped open. Huge and dark in a pale face and surrounded by straggling dark hair, the girl took less than half a second to scan the armored bodies around her before she _moved_.  Two men were down, eye sockets bleeding, before any of the Necros could register the fact that she was attacking. Two more fell, throats bubbling, before the rest could reach for the weapons. If it hadn’t been for the fact that these men had put themselves under his protection, made him alpha of their screwed up little pack, Riddick would have just sat back and watched as the girl danced her way through the pile. Eight were down by the time he’d bulled his way into the center of the fight. Two more went down as he kicked one end of the cryo box out of his way. She had a blade strapped to her wrist somehow, and had driven it back over her shoulder into the eye socket of the soldier trying to get her under control while she took his gun hand and used the weapon on another.  The first went down with a gurgling cry, the second crumpled more quietly.

               And then Riddick was there, fist swinging. Straight through empty air. She’d ducked, rolled under his arm, and popped up behind him. He turned, trying to catch her as she came up and she jumped again, rolling backwards over his shoulder and flying feet first at another of his men.  She followed him down, knees wrapped around his neck even as she continued the roll. Riddick heard the man’s neck snap just before she released her hold, tumbling backwards into a crouch. But she’d cornered herself with that last move. She’d landed in the passageway leading to the bridge, and Riddick could tell from the lack of glowing light in that direction that the Navigator had closed the hatch on the room before coming down to the cargo bay. Behind him he could hear muffled curses and guns being drawn. Growling, he waved at them. Last thing they needed was guns in a tight space.

             The girl was inching back, hands at the ready and her eyes. For every step he took forward, she took one back. The emergency lights flashed and spun overhead, making it harder to judge distance, but his nose was working fine. The scent of cool water was still there, overlaid with something like sour fruit and a bit of charcoal to leaven the mix. The drugs burning out of her system maybe. He thought briefly of the missing tranq gun, wishing he’d found it so he didn’t have to risk a shiv in the gut just to get close to this girl. He’d thought Kyra was wild, but this girl put a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘trapped animal’.

            “She will not sleep again!” The first words out of her mouth came in a high pitched shriek as she threw herself forward, shiv in hand and the last lingering bits of sanity completely gone from her eyes as she attacked with none of the grace she’d displayed not two minutes past. The sour fruit smell hit him like a hammer, along with the citrus of pure terror, but he managed to reach out and catch her wrist. A twist and a yank and he had the other one as well. The girl shrieked again, something in that unknown language, and bit at his hand. Feet flailed and he almost found himself thanking _someone_ for the invention of crotch guards as one of her heels impacted with the lightweight armor he’d remembered to put on for once.  Growling, he got one of her legs pinned between his knee and the wall. She was snarling and shrieking and his ears were starting to ring. With one final effort he brought his fist around to her temple. A last gurgling cry and she was, finally, silent.

 

 

**Author’s Note** : They’re not mine! I wish they were. If they were, this wouldn’t just be fanfic, this would be made into a real movie. Real. Movie. Or at least some variation of this. As it is, Firefly/Serenity is Whedon’s and Riddick’s universe (and the man) are property of Tuohy. Neither of which is me.

This is a re-edited chapter. I did a crap job the first time around. In another couple of weeks I’ll probably look at it and cringe again at other stuff I missed.  I wanted to say a couple things, things I’ll mention in upcoming author’s notes. Riddick is a grumpy bear, and far more likely to hit first and ask questions later at this point in his life than he was during the movies.  But if a girl popped out of a box and tried to kill you, would you really stop to ask questions?  The ship, by the way, is NOT _Serenity_. Read the description carefully, and the navigator’s conversation with Riddick in the bridge. We won’t be seeing _Serenity_ for a long time. Chapters wise that is. I promise though, the crew and the ship will show up eventually, but the needs of the story outweigh the possible hijinks I could get up to otherwise.

 

That said, please review! Reviews are awesome. They are lifeblood. They prove that someone out there has actually read this. They lift my heart, they…you get the idea.  Till later then.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

_It is right it should be so;_

_Man was made for Joy & Woe;_

_And when this we rightly know_

_Thro' the World we safely go._

_Joy & Woe are woven fine,_

A Clothing for the Soul divine

                “Auguries of Innocence”, William Black

 

 

It was the pain that woke her, dragging her up from the depths of unconsciousness. She hadn’t been asleep. She knew that much. Sleep brought rest. And peace.  Well, it did for others. For her there was little difference between sleep and unconsciousness, except for the dreamings she picked up around her. Something burned in her veins now, and it wasn’t the drugs that made her sleep. After a moment’s consideration she decided on exhaustion. All that time with her eyes closed and her heartbeat slowed to sleep speed and she was still tired. Odd that.

Not nearly so odd as the minds around her. It was her last coherent thought before the pain they were screaming of hit her brain and she jolted forward, trying to give voice to other’s agony. She was yanked back, not by human hands, but by restraints. Cold. Impersonal. Unthinking. Reeking of the pain of who knew how many people. She shrieked again and tried to flail, but there wasn’t any slack at her wrists and her feet had been tied down as well. Pain, needles, men drowning in blood. Eyes open or shut, she couldn’t unsee what she was seeing, and she wailed as she reached for her Mother, Captain Daddy, Simon. Nothing. Nothing but pain behind walls.

And curiosity.

That’s when she heard it. Breathing. Low. Deep. A heat source near her feet and rumbling sigh as metal slid over metal. Turning her head she realized that her eyes were open, but her surroundings were dark. Not completely. Here and there a ghostly light burned and blinked, but for the purposes of estimation, it might as well have been pitch black.  Panting, she tried to get a grip on her mind. It was so hard without an amygdala! The drugs were blurring her thoughts, dragging forth visions of snarling men and needles cold. She whimpered and shook her head, trying to banish the past and focus on the _now._  Amusement, curiosity, and…worry? They rolled off of whoever was seated near her feet, even as she heard the slide of metal on metal again. She latched onto the mind, wrapping herself around it in the hope that the lack of pain there would block the rest of the feelings she was getting in this place.

Then she caught the reason he wasn’t in pain and threw herself out, screaming and doing her best to claw her way backwards in her bed. A man walked among those two steps away from being Reavers! He didn’t fear what they almost were. He commanded them!

The amusement faded into irritation and a giant hand clamped over her mouth. “You want to be quiet little girl?” A deep voice like chocolate and coffee washed over her and almost, almost she let it calm her. But did he know what he had? What he courted? Panting through her nose, she wrinkled her lips and lunged.  She felt bone under skin before the man snarled and managed to yank his hand away. Movement in the air around her gave warning and she lurched, just barely missing the blow that would have sent her back into sleep. She couldn’t duck the other hand though, the one with the blade that rested, cold and sharp, against her neck. “Shut up, damn you,” he growled.

She didn’t quite freeze, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but she did stop thrashing. That seemed to satisfy the man, because the blade left her neck. What came next did an even better job of immobilizing her than the knife ever would have. A pair of silvery eyes, gleaming in the residual light around them, came into view. She blinked, stunned, and stilled. She could feel her mind racing, but didn’t bother to catch up, mesmerized as she was by that gaze. The owner tilted his head and she could hear him take a deep breath. Inches away now, she could make out a broad nose and full lips. Something on his brow, wrapped around his head. A skim of his mind revealed them to be goggles. A finger dipped slightly deeper in the calm waters told her that she’d need bright lights to incapacitate him with the goggles off. Considerable force would be required otherwise, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. Until his nose came to close to her neck that is. Then she turned and snapped at his ear, snarling under her breath. She may be tied down but that did _not_ make her weak or defenseless and if he planned on following through with the things in his mind she’d show him exactly how much a cup around his genitalia would _not_ protect him.

Snarling himself, the man jerked back and she tensed, waiting for intent to become action. But he lowered his fist and leaned back, studying her with those eyes. She kept her gaze locked on his, clinging to the one voice in this place not full of pain and crying and need. Finally he chuckled and tilted his head. “Vicious little thing aren’t you.”

She snorted “Like calls to like. Blades come out like claws unsheathed in anger and fear.” She tilted her head opposite his. “Reflexes good. Breathing even. Heart rate…” she paused. “Slightly elevated.”

The eyes blinked and he rumbled deep in his chest. Briefly she toyed with the idea of catching that sound and sleeping with it under her ear. It was almost better than the sound of Mother’s engine through the hull. Mother. Where was she now? Where was family? Had they gotten away safely? She’d felt Jayne hidden behind a stack of crates, gun in hand, just before she’d gone under. Had he and Captain Daddy gotten them away safely?

“Hey,” a warm hand was tapping her on the shoulder. “I said, you got a name?”

He was frowning at her. She must have slipped away. Shaking her head to clear it, she sighed. “The water drips and flows and builds and flows again. Gathers and gathers until it over runs its bounds and gravity pulls pulls pulls from the heights of elevation to the marshes of the delta, till it flows to the sea and evaporates. Condensation, cold air. Rain. Fall fall fall to the ground to start the journey again.” She blinked up at him. “The girl has given her name. What is his?”

There was the knife again. The man had the temper of a hungry wolf. But the claws of a tiger.  What sort of animal was he really? She tried to turn her head to follow him as he moved, but the knife slid along her neck and she felt the warmth of blood as it trickled. Resigned, she stopped moving and waited. He would speak soon enough; tell her what she’d already learned from his mind. And she liked to wait for the voice.  It fell over her like a warm blanket and chased away the cold in her head. Finally he sighed and the knife was removed. “Cool one aren’t ya?”

She shrugged, not caring if he could see her or not. “Knives like claws, flash in the dark. Honest edge, honest blood. Not needles and lies. If you had come with needles and lies she would have driven them back into your brain. She can do that you know.” And she grinned up at him. “Kill you with her brain.”

“Kill me with your rambling maybe,” he muttered, and she heard the blade slide back into its sheath.  “So, crazy girl. Name for a name is it?”

“She has given you hers,” she replied primly and stared at one of the blinking lights. It was synced with her heart rate. Which, like his, was slowing down. Good.

“That’s a long ass name.”

She giggled. “River does not take so long to say. Not as long as Richard B. Riddick. Murder, escaped convict.”

Some distant part of her mind screamed at her, telling her that poking a wolf with a stick was just as stupid as diving headlong into a pile of Reavers, but she told it to shut up, even as his full weight landed on fists to either side of her head. She’d killed the Reavers hadn’t she? The voice just gibbered, saying that they hadn’t been in their right minds and this man. This animal. He was mostly in his. Except when enraged apparently.

“How do you know my name?” He was roaring, veins popping out and beautiful eyes narrowed in a glare. She heard running footsteps in the corridor as one of the Painwalkers ran to check on his lord and master. She whimpered, trying to curl up and away from the agony the unknown man was bringing with him. But the combination of restraints at wrist and ankle along with the bulk of the roaring Lord Marshal made it an impossibility and she cried out, clutching at her head and only succeeding in catching Riddick in the jaw. He roared again and swung and blessed silence claimed her.

When she came to again the room was lit, albeit dimly, and she could make out the various instruments and displays around her. Wherever she was, IVs were apparently still in use, because there was one taped to her arm. How had she not pulled it out with her thrashing? A heart monitor blinked nearby and she stared at it, willing herself to breath slower, calm down, slow the heart rate. She could still feel the Painwalkers around her and the man was a dim presence in the back of her mind, angry but calm at the same time. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but the drugs were still making her muzzy and her grip on reality was slipping. Never had she thought she’d wish for the screams of the dead as company, instead of those who might as well be.

One of them was coming, his mind wrapped up in things to be done, foremost was check on her. He blinked to see her sitting up and staring at him when he stuck his head around the door. She endeavored to give him a smile, focusing on the mundane in his mind and not the keen of pain underneath. Apparently her smile was either not that good, or their faces were frozen in place when they received their marks. He merely blinked at her again, and then entered the room. She watched him carefully as he made his rounds, checking displays and fidgeting with buttons. It was only when he reached for the dial on the IV drip that she spoke. “No more drugs please. Judgment is affected. Control is lost.” She tilted her head and tried to look helpless. “Water though? Her throat is dry.”

The man blinked again, but didn’t answer. Instead he toggled what must have been an intercom and spoke. “Lord Marshal Sir. The girl is awake again.” The reply was a growl, full of static but clear enough to get the point across. She could go fuck herself.

River giggled at the look on the Painwalker’s face. Clearly, being stuck in a room for who knew how long with a girl who’d downed eight men in less time than it took to draw a full breath was not on his list of good ideas. River wiggled her wrists in their restraints and eyed them speculatively.  There was a pin dangling in the mass of hair over her shoulder. If she could get it out of her hair and into her mouth, she could get free. Catching the nervousness being thrown off by the man, she sighed and sat back. Maybe later.

“Sir,” she tried again. “The girl is thirsty. Do your people not permit prisoners even water in the desert?”

She nearly giggled again when he jerked around to face her. This could be fun at least, while she waited.

She didn’t get her water, and in the end, it was probably all for the best. Water would have meant bedpans, catheters, or being unchained long enough to visit a head. Only one of those options was preferable to her, but she probably would have just ended up chained hand to foot and shuffling, movement restricted beyond bearing. Better to not need to put herself in any of those positions. The IV had turned out to be full of nutrients and fluids anyways, not sedatives. How long had she been asleep? Her head hurt and she could feel bruises blooming where she’d been knocked out. The tranq bullet had long ago dissolved in her system and the wound closed over. It hadn’t had much penetrating power. It wasn’t designed for killing. But it had still hurt her and her shoulder had bled sluggishly, pooling around her in the cryo box until the stench was noticeable even to the mercs who’d caught her. They’d cleaned her up then, and the box. Their mistake. She’d woken up. Broken the gun even as the nervous one shot her again. In the leg. Which was mostly healed now. How long _had_ she been out that the second bullet hole only showed traces of the clear casing? She could feel the drugs the shell had been impregnated with still burning through her system, clouding her mind and making her words go all sideways.

Time slipped and curled around her, wrapping her in confusion. The Painwalker medic came and went, and she tried to doze. People talked around her room, but she ignored them, sinking as deep into meditation as she could, closing door after door in her mind as she dropped into the core and tried to rebuild herself from the inside out. She’d almost succeeded too, when she caught a stray thought from one of the bridge crew and panic slammed through her like a storm, catching all reason and taking it far far away.

Riddick had been taking reports from his crew when it happened. One second his men were telling him that the bodies of the foreign vessel’s crew had been disposed of and most of the blood cleaned up and when did they want to disengage and continue sir? The next moment a high pitched shriek rang through the halls, grating on his ears and snapping all his senses into focus. Riddick was moving before he’d registered that there was only one person on board who could shriek like that. And had it been his ears or his head that heard her? His skull was certainly ringing like someone had been yelling in it.

                Shoving speculation aside, he ran for the infirmary, turning the corner just in time to see the medic stagger out and collapse with a muffled cry. He snorted. Apparently they could still feel broken bones.  Huffing out a growl, he waved the men around him to a stop and listened. There. Faintly. The _slap slap_ of bare feet. How had she gotten free?

                No matter. She’d go for familiar ground, and the only place that had that was back on the unfamiliar ship. He took off, using every short cut he could think of through the Destroyer, but the halls were laid out with mathematical precision and it would take too much time to cut through engineering, trip over every damn fool in there, and make it out the other side.  He dodged a trail of bodies that littered the floor as he ran, most just gasping, a couple nursing broken noses, and the last two guards gurgling out their last breath.  If he hadn’t been so fucking pissed her would have stopped to admire the girl’s work. Batshit she may be, but she was also absolutely lethal in a way not even Kyra had managed. Kyra had worked for her kills. This girl seemed to breathe death.

                It was beautiful.

                She was scrambling up a ladder when he rounded the last corner, space suit and helmet on. He lunged for her and caught the rungs instead as she jumped the last few feet and slammed her small fist into a button set in the ceiling. A warning hiss and a hatch popped open. She eeled her way up and into the cavity it revealed, calling through her suit’s mike. “About to lose pressure. Hold on. Oxygen levels about to drop.”

                Riddick had a moment to latch himself around the ladder before she opened what was apparently an external hatch. Air rushed past him, dragging at his clothes and he ducked when a nearby wrench flew past his head. Snarling, he heaved himself up and caught the internal hatch, shoving it closed by main strength just as a pack of Necros burst into the hold. Growling more to himself than to them, he ignored the weapons they’d trained on the hatch and headed for the locker the girl had left open.  There was another suit in there, and it didn’t look all that hard to put on. One of the men moved forward, holstering his gun as he did so “Sire, are you sure?” He trailed off at the look Riddick threw him. Even through the goggles, his men knew that look. The man backed off.

                Less than a minute later the big man was suited up and out the hatch. He shut the internal one carefully, but let the external one stay open. Crazy girl was probably the only one with an idea of how to get back in and he was _not_ crawling back to the Destroyer to beg them to open the doors again.

                A giggle echoed through the speaker in his helmet and he growled, turning. He didn’t see the girl floating anywhere in space, so she hadn’t made a suicide jump. A quick scan of the visible portions of his own ship didn’t show anything either. That fucking giggle again. “Down here,” she said. “Follow the line.”

                Something moved against his leg and he looked down to see a length of spacer’s line, clipped to a ring set into the outside of the hatch. Slowly, carefully, he followed it around to the belly of the ship, past the engines and towards the place where the hulls of their respective ships met. She was clinging; crouched upside down, examining a nest of tubes and wires that did _not_ look like it belonged where it was. She turned her head to look at him, and then gestured at the mess. “They sit in their webs, all spun tight, and wait wait wait for the fly to land. Looks safe it says. Looks sad, with bait cut up and left in the trap.”  She tilted her head back to the pile and leaned over, pushing at them until she’d uncovered something.  Waving him over, she pointed. Warily, keeping a good arm’s length from her, Riddick moved over and leaned in. It looked innocuous enough. A little black box, with what was probably a red light blinking on it.

                “Green.” Riddick jerked his head up to look at the girl, but she wasn’t paying any attention to him. She was poking at the wires again, very gently. “Spider feels the web tremble. Would come to check on what it caught.” Now she looked at him again.  “But if the fly is so foolish as to try and pull away, it will die anyways. Their hatred for those sane and living knows no bounds. They kill and eat the living, but are just as satisfied with making you dead or crippled.”

Something cold crawled its way down his back at the fear in her voice and for a moment he was back on a desert planet, running through a monster’s graveyard. He blinked at it was gone. She was still looking at him, but her face was just a bit too serene for his liking. “Who?”

She shuddered, pulled her hand away from the little box, and backed her way along the hull. “Grief, rage, hunger, hate. They come when you call.” The helmet lifted and Riddick could see the shiver running through her body. “She sleeps but she hears, sleeps but she hears. Voices inside, scrabbling like ants. Boarded. Ate the crew. Raped the crew. Set the bait, set the trap.” She gave one last shudder and stilled, the reflected light of stars the only thing to tell him where she was.  “Reavers,” she said, just as he was about to crawl over and shake her, or worse. “Pax is not peace. Pax is death for many and grief for the rest. They float, they raid. They hunt.” Riddick had a moment to curse the fact they were in suits. Her scent would tell him more; because while her body language was still fearful, her voice was strong. “If she’d been awake and mobile there would have been no more. No more Reavers, no more hunters. Would have let them take the hunters, and then taken them. Gone home to Mother and her crew.” She looked at him then, crawling forward till he could make out those huge brown eyes, set hard and angry. “She _will_ go back. You cannot stop her.”

                He chuckled and sat back on his heels. He had no intention of letting this one get away. She was the most fun he’d had since he’d fucked with Johns’ mind back in that hellhole. He felt the last of his plan drop into place with an almost audible click. This was just what he’d been looking for, a way to ditch the Necros and get the hell out of the known universe.

                “Going to have to disable the tracker first,” she muttered, having come all the way back over to poke around in the nest of cables.  “Can’t disengage without catastrophic damage to both ships. Can’t leave until engines are repaired either.” She looked up at him and grinned, a joyful look all out of keeping with the topic of conversation. “She will take him with her if he likes, but he must not chain her again.”

                Growling, Riddick lunged and caught her on the shoulder. She bounced once when she hit the hull, but then her boots caught and stuck. “What makes you think I’m taking you anywhere? What makes you thing _I’m_ looking to go anywhere? Got my own ship.”

                “Engines leave trail. Very traceable. Why be this far out else?” She shrugged, supremely unconcerned. “Why inspect a drifting ship who knows how far from occupied planets if you didn’t have a use for it?” She leaned up, her faceplate meeting his. “You are different from them. Not a Painwalker. Rule through blood and fear and…” she tilted her head. “Amusement?”

                Riddick just snarled and reached for the tube from her oxygen tank to the helmet. “What makes you think you know all that?”

                “Apologies. Tranquilizers still in system. Cryo drugs don’t mix. Don’t like it when they make her die. Disjointed thoughts and running mouth.” She paused. “Appalling grammar is a side effect.” When he didn’t yank the tube, she continued. “You do not bear the scars of the Painwalkers.” Riddick flinched when her arms came up around his, hands touching either side of his neck. “And you roar at them. But they take it. So how else would you rule?”

                Growling, Riddick backed up, as much to let her up as it was to keep her hands away from his neck.  The crazy bitch was all sorts of creepy, and it’d be his luck she’d manage to hide a blade somewhere on her suit. Or make her own grab at an oxygen tube. She sat up, propped on her elbows, and looked at him with solemn eyes. “Men will come to check on leader soon. She will apologize for screaming and running. Did not want ships to disengage and end up floating in itty bitty pieces.”

                And with that, she turned over and began inching her way back along the hull. After one last look at the mess of trouble attached to the ships, Riddick growled and follow. Fucking women. How did he keep getting stuck with the crazies?

                The girl’s giggle over the comm system did nothing to help his attitude.

 

 

Author’s Note: They aren’t mine! I’m stealing out of the toybox! Cause if they were mine, belieeeeeve me… Anyways, thanks so much for the reviews guys. I honestly wasn’t even thinking of the possibility people would think it was Serenity he found. Guess I should have huh? And I agree, there’s not enough new River/Riddick fanfic out there. So of course I write my own! I’m going to try to update fairly regular. I’m actually writing much further ahead than I’m updating, so that should keep the chapters flowing for a while.

As always, R&R and you shall be loved forever!


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

 

_Frail, the skin is dry and pale, the pain will never fail_  
And so we go back to the remedy  
Clip the wings that get you high, just leave them where they lie  
And tell yourself, "You'll be the death of me"

                “Remedy”, Seether

 

 

               He had ordered an empty set of quarters that had belonged to one of the ranking officers be gotten ready and the locks reworked so they would only open from the outside. When his men had protested he’d merely crossed his arms and let them guess where his eyes were looking behind the goggles as he’d said. “You keep what you kill right?” That had shut them up. Whatever they were, Necros held to their beliefs and hypocrisy about their creed didn’t enter in to the equation. Sometimes he wished it did. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in this situation in the first place.

                Now he was leaning against the doorframe as two of his men marched her in and unshackled her hands. The bruises on her face were fading, and the wound in her leg had closed up without any help from the medics. There was another on her shoulder, just a scar now, and he wondered how she’d gotten them. The girl turned her head over her shoulder to look at him as the last of the chains were removed and one of the men left. For a moment he toyed with the idea of waiting her out, but her scent was all green grass and warm fire and none of the acidity of fear. Intimidating her hadn’t worked so far, and she had a bad habit of turning his mind fuck routine back on himself. It was disturbing how she could make him fly into a rage at the drop of a hat.

                The girl giggled and spun in place, the dress she’d been wearing since she came out of the cryo box flaring to reveal a pair of black shorts before she came to a stop, one foot extended behind her parallel to the floor, the opposite hand reaching for the grating. She looked up at him, winked, and stood straight again before moving to the edge of the bed. Riddick blinked when she leaned over first and was she sniffing it? Her nose wrinkled, but she sat anyways, hands folded in her lap and feet together on the floor. “Apologies,” she said, still grinning. “Except for screaming, running, and fighting, she has not been able to move free in a very long time.” She looked at the remaining Necro in the room, who’d been fingering his gun. “Chains and cryo and being dead without dying you see.”

                Riddick shrugged and moved into the room, past the other man. “Well now you can move. Stay in these quarters, no more running and killing my men. Don’t stay and I’ll rethink the deal I’m plan’n. Got that?”

                The girl, River, stood and moved around him, poking at this and that, sticking her nose in the tiny head before meeting his gaze through the goggles. “This is acceptable. Presence of the Painwalkers close enough to Reavers she thought she must fight.” At this she bowed to the Necro behind Riddick, who shifted and looked to his Lord for guidance. Riddick lifted a shoulder, wanting to see how this played out. “Thought she was going to be raped and eaten otherwise.”

                Another uncomfortable shift from the man in armor. Riddick nearly laughed. She was better at making his men want to go running than he was, and that was without a shiv or the body mass to back it up. This could almost be fun. She grinned at him again and continued with her inspection of the room. After a moment to make sure she wasn’t going to do anything else crazy, Riddick told the Necro he could leave and went back to his leaning, this time against the wall.           

                The girl made a full circuit of the room before coming to stand in front of him, arms at her sides and head tilted. Her face was scrunched up in a way he’d almost call cute if the word itself weren’t so fucking undignified. She giggled again and tilted her head the other way. “Riddick doesn’t do undignified, does he? B for Badass. B for big scary man.”

                Riddick stiffened and found a shiv in his hand. “Been meaning to ask you that. Who’s been telling you things?”

                She shrugged. “You have. It’s in the face. The body language.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and he was momentarily distracted by trying to remember when the last time anybody had done _that_ to his face either. “The girl,” she said, breaking him out of his thoughts again, “is _jen duh sh tyen tsai_ you know. It’s why they wanted her.

                There was that language again. Riddick fought the urge to beat this girl into the ground, breathing deep and turning the comforting weight of his shiv in his hands as he rooted his feet to the floor. The girl still smelled of old blood, just faintly of antiseptics, and an odd mix of rain and charcoal. The sour fruit was almost gone, and he figured it must be because she was up and moving around instead of being in cryo. Once he had a firmer grip on his temper, he tried again. “A what?”

                “A genius. It’s why the wanted her. Box her up and take her back. Get paid.”

                That was familiar enough. “Mercs then. “

                She shrugged. “Bounty hunters. Semantics. Talking. Planning. Could hear them, even when they thought she was frozen.” And then her scent changed, lemons and oranges ramming themselves up his nose. He jerked back, startled at the suddenness of it, as she folded herself up on the edge of the bed, hands wrapped around her feet. “Don't talk to the girl! They'll kill you for it. Bleeding from every pore. Nail beds loose in their seats and the white horses on their red hills slipping and sliding off with the flood of it! Keep her tranqed. Keep her quiet. Keep her on ice. Turn her over. Retire and _don’t die_. Can't spend coin if you're dead.”  
            If he ever had this girl nailed down on where her mind was at and when it was about to go off the deep end, Riddick had the feeling that he’d find himself joining her on these little jaunts into riddlespeak. And they called _him_ crazy. At least he’d just killed people, toyed with their heads a bit. Ok, he’d enjoyed mind fucking them, watching them try to sort themselves out before the inevitable hit. Still did, but the Necros just didn’t want to play.

                “Want her back, finish the work. She escaped, _ge ge_ got her out.” Those huge eyes were fixed on his goggles now. “Got out before they could finish. A weapon without targeting. Safety is problematic. Stopgap at best. Want her back under their control.” Fine boned hands moved from her feet to her knees, wrapping around them as she buried her face and hid the world from view. Something uncurled in Riddick’s gut at the sight, and he shoved it back into its hole, kicking the lid shut as hard as he could. Women and sympathy had gotten him into this mess; he was _not_ going to let himself get attached to another. Grunting to himself in confirmation, he leaned back against the wall and prepared to watch the girl fall apart and turn hysterical. Give him a reason to yell. Anything. Instead, her breathing evened out, her heart rate slowed, and her scent changed. The charcoal faded a bit, the lemons and oranges even more so and in their place came the rain and apples. Did this girl have a base scent at all?

                Her voice was calmer when she spoke again, although still a bit ragged around the edges. And so quiet he found himself leaning forward to hear. “She gave away the secret. It burned up her brain the way the last of the drugs are doing now. Fragments here and there. She told the whole ‘Verse. Dangerous. Can’t leave loose. What else does she know?”

                Finally, a way to get off the crazy talk. “Speakin’ a knowing things,” the Lord Marshall rumbled, trying to make his voice encouraging. Whatever it came out as, he doubted encouraging was it, because she lifted her head and gifted him with such a _look_ that he had to swallow down a laugh. This was more like it, getting under her skin instead of her under his. And the best part was she didn’t seem to understand the thin ice she walked.  

                “Do you,” she muttered, before straightening and placing her feet back on the floor. The prim little rich girl was back, every line, every bone speaking of having been born to exactly the sort of life he hated. “Born different,” her voice was stern, correcting. “Born with clarity. Academy took her, made her a Reader. Enhanced the clarity till she heard. Saw. All. Inside the head, the heart. The intent.”

                He was across the room before he realized he moved, the girl shoved back on the bed and a shiv tracing another line across her throat to match the one he’d given her in the infirmary. The scent of blood bloomed, but nothing else about her changed. She looked up at his goggles, eyes steady. Sad even. As if she really could see in his head, pick through the memories. Unbidden, the chamber of the Quasi-Dead flashed through, and he threw up a different mental image, one of mindless death and slaughter. Anything to keep from remembering how they’d ripped through his skull and condemned him for being something he hadn’t even known existed. “Get out!” He roared when she wouldn’t cower. “Get the _fuck_ out of my head!”

Her eyes had glassed over, the smell of charcoal sifting through the rain and apples like some sort of fog. Snarling, he pressed her deeper into the bed, ignoring the Necro guard who’d come in and was aiming his weapon in their general direction, trying to decide which of the two lunatics was more of a threat. The shiv in his hand bit just a little deeper, broke just a little bit more skin. And then there was a knee in his balls and a set of claws raking down his face as a cool edge made its own bite into his throat. Stunned, trying to guard himself while _not_ cutting his neck open on the blade she’d stolen from him, Riddick shouted and stumbled backwards. Even as he caught his balance and started forward for another strike, the tiny little bitch slithered off the bed and into a fighting crouch across from him.

                “You get out of _my_ head, you _ching wah tsao duh liou mahng_!” She growled. Where she’d palmed the second blade from he had no idea, it wasn’t one of his, but he was too focused on not getting his mind read to really worry about it.

                “What the fuck you talking about, me get outta your head,” he barked. The Necro had backed out, wisely deciding that his Lord Marshal could handle the crazy girl and not looking be dying before his due time. Riddick followed him with his ears, but the girl’s eyes flickered just slightly as the door slid shut. Seeing his chance, the big man lunged. And missed. As if she’d never taken her attention off him, she slid under the strike and a little closer to the door. Growling, Riddick moved to block her escape.

                “She can’t get out. You broadcast. Loudly. Clear, ordered thoughts but still _loud_. Your Painwalkers scream in their heads about what they used to be. They cut open her brain and took her no fear.”

                That brought him up short, and the strange thing in his stomach uncurled again, rapping experimentally at the lid to its hole. A bit of the blinding rage fell away and he straightened a bit. “They what?”

                The girl stood upright, and crossed her arms, scowling. It would have looked childish if it weren’t for the blades she still held. “Her amygdala. They took it from her.” She paused a moment and tilted her head at him, as if waiting for something. Riddick was too busy tamping the animal back in its cage to notice any meaning behind the movement. “She hears it all. _Feels_ it all. Stays out of heads as much as possible, is better at blocking than she was. But they broadcast. Loudly.” In another sudden change of mood, she wrinkled her nose and grinned. The apples and rain were back. “Like when the Riddick asked for names.”

                And just like that, he was spitting mad again. In some distant part of his mind he wondered if the girl was playing with him, the way he sometimes played with his victims. But the rage was boiling over, and he didn’t have time for self-analysis as he set himself to getting past her guard.

                The little bitch giggled as she dodged, and he felt the kiss of metal along the outside of his arm as she spun past him. “Wanted to scare her,” she sang as she passed in a billow of apples, rain, and…silk? “Was waiting for it.” Snarling, unthinking, he followed her through the turn and got her in the shoulder with fist wrapped hilt. It reversed her rotation, and she moved with it, turning the blow into a high butterfly kick that caught him in the back of the neck. He caught himself on his elbows and pulled his feet under him, ready to lunge for her. But she wasn’t in front of him. She’d used his neck as a step and bounced up and over, landing behind him. Whipping around, he was brought up short to see her standing, still as a statue. His forehead smacked into her upraised hand and she grinned again. It was so totally at odds with the situation, with the blood still trickling sluggishly from the cut on her neck, with the deep seated rage still boiling up in him. Somewhere his animal was panting out a laugh at this little girl hitting him like a dog to be disciplined. He tamped it back in its hole for the time being. “Couldn’t know,” she whispered like a child sharing a secret. “Couldn’t know that she’d had heard of worse.”

                Thought followed only slightly behind action as he leaned his head into her palm and glared through the goggles. “You got the convict. Murderer too. See the rest.” And he opened his mind, uncaged the animal, and somehow, threw it all at her.

                The girl’s eyes glazed and she swayed on her feet under the onslaught. But she didn’t go down, the lemons and oranges didn’t come back, and the charcoal wasn’t even a hint on the air. Apples, rain, and something like wet earth filled the air around him, and he had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t on a ship in the middle of nowhere at all. If he looked, he could see the fields of grass, wet with moisture, and feel the damp soil beneath his feet; it was like no planet he’d ever set foot on.

                And then the feeling was gone. The smells were still there, but they affected only his nose, not his other senses. The girl’s eyes were focused, and she was rubbing her thumb along the strap of his goggles. The wet earth smell rose to dominance as she pulled her hand back, and he stepped firmly on the instinct to lean forward and keep contact. “Worst thing you think you did though,” she murmured. “Is laying in the cargo hold.”

                He froze. His animal roared. They stared at each other, her heart steady and her eyes sad. His racing, and the blood rushing in his veins. He tightened his fists, shiv in one hand forgotten, as he tried to pull the burning in his chest back. He could feel the handprint there, throbbing; and the last thing he needed to do was pass out in front of this little cunt. Finally, he unclenched his jaw and grated, “Fuck. You.”

                The girl sighed and stepped backwards until she found the wall, then slid down it in a tangle of arms and legs that somehow sorted themselves into the lotus position. “Apologies. Need to meditate. Been too long. Lucidity is slipping. Need to refocus.”

                Riddick didn’t move.      

                She opened one eye, then closed it again. “Either kill the girl, leave, or attempt to control your breathing, please and thank you. It will be boring if you stay. And scenting won’t yield proper information without a frame of reference.”

                A breath. Another. A growl clawed its way up through his mouth and past sneering lips. She didn’t open her eyes again. Finally, still rumbling, Riddick turned. Stopping at the door, he said “You don’t leave this room without a guard, we clear?”

                “Illusion of control is important. She understands.”

                Stalking past the wary Necro outside the door, Riddick tried to dodge away from the thought that this time, he may have met his match.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author’s Note:** First off, apologies. I posted this over at FF.net, got frustrated with the interface here at AO3, and kind of…fizzled. I will try and get this up in its entirety. I haven’t re-edited or anything. I’m taking classes and can’t quite manage it. Maybe someday.

 

Alrighty people. Another chapter, another episode in my little game of how long can I keep these two at each other’s throats? You’ll find out eventually XD. Business first though. They aren’t mine! /cry. Whedon and Tuohy and the Wheat brothers and Vin Diesel have all made boatloads more money of these characters and their respective universes than I ever will (and I’m not gonna end up making any). That said, I love that I get to play with their toys!

 

A couple notes: A) Can you spot the _The Hobbit_ reference? Yeah. Love it. Couldn’t help it. B) I am going to be drawing not only from the TV series and movie of the Firefly universe but some of the comics and tidbits I find in wikis. I’m also going back to a couple of different documents Dayzejane clued me in to: _The_ _Arc of the Verse_ and _The Verse in Numbers_. As for Riddick, I’m poking through wikis, rewatching the movies over and over, and the novelization of _Chronicles_ gives a fair number of insights not only into the Necromonger mentality but to the reasons behind cryo in their spaceflight. D) I’m using a couple of websites for my Chinese translations. One seems to go soft on the cussing, or tone it down a bit; another is more of an ep by ep rundown of the terms used. C) I’m going to be using nautical terminology a fair amount in this story. After all, ship, boat, blahbittyblah. So here are a couple of terms to help you out.

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

 

_ching wah tsao duh liou mahng_ \- Frog-humping sonofabitch

_jen duh sh tyen tsai_ -An absolute genius

_ge ge_ -brother


	4. Chapter 4

 

Ch. 4

 

Ah, but don't, no don't sink the boat 

That you built, you built to keep afloat

Ah no, don't, no don't sink the boat 

That you built

“ Float”, Flogging Molly

 

He was in the small cargo hold, going over the assessment of the foreign ship when a quiet knock broke his concentration. Looking up, he saw a Necro in full armor, posture reading all sorts of confusion and apprehension. They didn’t like coming in here. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t cremate her and move on. Sometimes he didn’t know himself, why he didn’t just dump her and keep going. He nearly had once, before a woman who’d finally found her courage had browbeaten him into going back. Stupid women, always dying for him. Because of him. 

“This one has no intention of dying any time soon,” came a now familiar voice from behind the Necromonger guard and Riddick swallowed a growl. Much as he’d love to take it out of the man’s hide, he understood. The little witch seemed to have a way of turning logic on its side and getting people to do things they’d never have considered. Such as keep her alive when he should have just killed her and taken the other ship. Or keeping her in cryo until he was far enough away she’d have no choice but to go along with him. 

She giggled as she stepped out from behind the guard, pale skin luminous to his sight, hair a dark drifting cloud. His goggles were down, the lights in the bay kept just bright enough that the Necros wouldn’t trip over anything if they had to come in and it was a touch too light for him to want to handle if he didn’t have to. She didn’t seem to notice, boots dangling from one hand as she glided on bare cat feet over to the cryo box that held Kyra’s body. Setting the boots down, she knelt, tattered skirt drifting around her, and placed one hand on the edge. Riddick fought the growl building in his chest and forced himself to keep away from his shivs. Her face was calm, reverent almost. The sanest he’d seen her yet, and the curiosity in him just  itched to see what she’d do next. Whether in answer to his thought or of her own choice, the girl stood in one fluid movement and turned to face him. “The girl needs clothes if possible. Doesn’t know how long…” and she fluttered a hand over her body, indicating the torn and bloody dress she’d been wearing for at least the past two days. “Female merc was only slightly bigger. Need to go over to the  Hound and search for more.” Her eyes glinted, and Riddick got the feeling that wasn’t all she’d be looking for. She winked and he nearly jerked, settling for scowling instead and thinking hard on how nice it would be to have his thoughts to himself. She gave him that look again, the one that made the man want to strangle her and his animal laugh.

“Fine,” he stood and crossed his arms to add weight to his biggest scowl . “You can salvage.” She didn’t bat an eye. A barked command and the snap of his wrist and the Necro guard bowed himself out, looking all sorts of pleased about not having to deal with the crazy girl. 

She didn’t comment on the fact he’d obviously decided to be her escort, but she did huff and cross her arms as he turned to go. “She has a name.”

“Too fucking long,” he replied without turning. “And you never use it anyways. Now, you want clothes or not?”

He laughed when she grumbled a bit to herself and ran to keep up. “She does.”

The girl, River, didn’t head immediately to the bunks when the crossed into the  Hound , choosing to wander the ship instead. Riddick considered making her just grab the clothes and leave, but she seemed to know what she was doing and he needed a better assessment of his chosen form of transport and escape anyways. What his Necros had given him was geared more towards their view of capture and kill opportunities than to getting it cut free of the trap and moving again. Frankly, he thought they just like to blow anything that wasn’t Necro in origin to bits, but he was biased.

She poked through everything, opening cupboards in the galley, checking gauges on walls; she’d ignored the hold completely after the first cursory look, giving the cryo box still sitting in front of the infirmary a look and a sniff as she passed it. When she finally got around to the bunks, it wasn’t the woman’s she entered first. From the lingering smell of cologne, it had been a man. From the large jingling pouch she pulled from a loose panel in the wall, he’d lay odds on it being the captain’s. 

“Thought you needed clothes,” he muttered although the idea of hard currency was nice. If he only knew the denominations and value. 

“Assessing resources,” the girl muttered, yanking a fold-out bed from the wall and popping another panel there. Another bag of coin joined the first. “How long will supplies last? How to pay for fuel and bribes and docking fees once civilization is reached?” She pointed at the bags, “Just got paid. Riding high off of last job. Several thousand plat in the bags. Mercs don’t work for Alliance creds. Money what lives in banks can be taken back.” A little more jiggling, this time in the tiny dresser, yielded a third bag, this one much emptier. The girl dumped the bags out on the bed and started sorting coinage. Riddick leaned closer, trying to make out numbers and markings. She looked over at him and grinned. “Was good payday. But taking  River would have left them set for a very long time, even split ten ways.”

“’Sat so,” he said, poking at one of the bags she was refilling. 

She snatched it out of the way. “Two million plat. 1.75 in credits, but as  I said, mercs don’t like currency they cannot hold.” Apparently satisfied with how she’d divvied up the money, she stuck the bags back where she’d found them and waltzed out the door. Literally. 

Riddick caught up with her in the next bunk, which had been the woman’s, and leaned against the hatch. “Two million. What’d you do?”

She stopped, motionless, and he caught the fainted tinge of lemons before cool water washed it away. Her movements, fluttery as they’d been, turned purposeful as she yanked open drawers and sorted through clothes. “Was born,” she said quietly. “Was born a genius and went to a school that was not.  Ge ge spent two years getting her out.” She looked up and met his gaze through the goggles. “She has told you this already.”

He shrugged and tried a different tack. “Confident you’ll make it back though.”

She snorted and turned back to the pile of clothes on the floor. “Why haven’t you killed her yet?” 

“Entertainment.”

“Lie,” she threw a pair of pants off to the side. “Need her. Need to know what she knows about merc vessel so he can escape.” A few more pieces of clothing flew and she looked up at him. “Need to change now.”

He shrugged and gave her half a grin.

“At least turn around. This is not a skinshow. And if it were, you would still need to pay. The girl does not accept Universal Dollars.”

Something in his stomach lurched at that, and a wild vision flashed unbidden across his mind. She flinched, just slightly, and he could see one hand inching for the knife he knew she usually had along her thigh. Grumbling to himself about women and decency and how soft he was getting, Riddick turned and stared out into the hall. He could hear cloth rustling, sliding over her body, dropping to the floor. A second or so of silence and then more small noises. Leather, he guessed, over something soft. A belt being fastened. Apples, rain and warm vanilla flooded his nose, and he kept himself occupied with trying to guess what the new smell meant. He was still running through the options when the girl brushed past him, bare feet making hardly any noise. She’d left the boots sitting next to the folded pile of her old clothes. He caught her by the elbow before she was completely out of reach and turned her, taking in the new clothes with a raised eyebrow. A pair of drawstring pants, loose enough for easy movement but not baggy enough to cause trouble in a fight. A wrapped shirt of what felt like cotton, long sleeves with loops on the end that were hooked over her middle fingers. A leather vest over that, belted under the ribcage. She’d dug up a hair tie somewhere, and the dark cloud was pulled into a loose ponytail behind one shoulder. “Where you goi’n?” He said finally, when she refused to cave and speak.

She frowned and tried to pull her arm free. He moved with it, refusing to let go. “Bridge,” she huffed finally. “Assessment incomplete. If you wish to know the state of the ship you will let her go.”

“Got a name little girl.”

“So does she,” she scowled back and tried to step out of his hold again. He let her; chuckling as he followed her into the tiny cubby someone had the nerve to call a working space. She fit much better than he did, or even the Navigator had. “She will help you if she can. Is a pilot. A genius pilot.” The girl got herself situated in the chair and ran a hand over the controls. “You know what the first rule of flying is?” She said, her voice changing slightly, taking on an accent he couldn’t recognize. “Love. You can learn all the math in the 'verse, but you take a boat in the air you don't love, she'll shake you off just as sure as the turning of the worlds. Love keeps her in the air when she oughta' fall down, tells you she's hurtin' 'fore she keens. Makes her a home.” Riddick frowned and moved around to get a better look at her face. Her eyes were closed and the wet earth smell was starting to rise. She ignored him and continued in her usual voice. “You are an old warbeast, sly like a fox, full of many screams. But I will try to love you, at least till we get back to Mother.”

“Fancy words,” Riddick grunted as he crossed his arms. 

“Captain Daddy’s words. First advice he gave on flying.” She giggled and started flipping toggles and hitting buttons. The console hummed to life, screens coming up and status buttons flashing. “Only thing keeps him in the sky. His take offs and lands are exciting.”

The big man snorted, eyes tracking her hands as she worked. “And why should I trust you?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and grinned. One of the screens beeped and she looked back at it before answering. “Can’t read Chinese. Half of bridge is written in it. And she can fix engines.” Another button, a firm nod, and she turned in the chair to face him fully. He didn’t say anything, just glowered and let his thoughts of skepticism float at the top of his mind. She wrinkled her nose, but stayed silent. He had the oddest feeling that she was seeing those thoughts, and digging at the ones beneath them. Ones about how tiny she was, the way her skin looked to his ungoggled eyes. He seen her kill, seen her go crazy, thought that this might be her sane. He was still trying to figure her out, figure out why he hadn’t killed her. Not that he couldn’t once he finally hit a planet again.

“She has trusted him so far,” the girl said quietly. “You can scent her, she can hear your thoughts,” She shrugged as he snarled. “Hypocrite wanted she to hear mistrust in his head. Didn’t want her to hear thoughts of having to kill her if she proves to much a liability.” She turned back the console. “She wants to go  home. He does not wish to lead the Painwalkers. This ship,” she patted the chair she sat on, “can get you away, but without the girl it will be impossible. Even after escape.” She leveled a look at him from under the hair starting to come loose and fall across her eyes. “And you could  try to kill her after. She considers dumping him on Persephone and leaving him to fend for himself. Big scary man would get picked up quicker than thought. Can only be one thing, way he looks.”

“Oh?” Riddick leaned over the back of the chair until his mouth was next to her ear. Apples and rain, partially hidden by the strange woman’s borrowed clothes, bloomed. The warm vanilla was there too, with just a trace of cool water. This girl smelled like so many things that shouldn’t have matched and yet fit, like pieces of a puzzle in a chaos of colors. She turned her head, just slightly, and he caught a glint of dilated pupil before her hair hid it. Interesting. No fear smell to go with the tell, or much beyond a tiny hitch upwards in heart rate. He grinned to himself and brought his arms down around her, one on the armrest of the chair, the other draped over the back of the seat. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at him, but said nothing. Still grinning, he moved just that little bit closer, feeling lips brush skin as he asked. “What am I?”

Her heart rate didn’t go up again, but she drew in a breath before answering. “They see a dangerous man. A big  huh choo-shang tza-jiao duh tzang-huo. Must have done bad things. Lock him up before he can do any more.” She turned back to the console, taking the chair with her. Riddick let her, straightening slowly and savoring the smell left in his nose by her hair as it passed across his face. “Gotta tell me what those words mean sometime little girl.”

She snorted. “Is not  ni zi . Adult. Only look tiny. And you are  an animal fucking bastard.”

Riddick tipped his head back and laughed. She ignored him in favor of the screens in front of her. “Life support functional,” she said when he was done. “Emergency systems acceptable. Will have to inspect engine to determine extent of damage there…External containment…” she did something and the display changed again. “Ah…”

“Ah… what?” Riddick leaned over her again to look at the screen, but could only make out about half of what was said on it. 

“Reavers had bits of brain. Disabled external grav field. Engine probably fine, mostly,” She brought something up on a different screen and pointed. “Without, fire up engines and fry in the radiation.” She glanced up. “You do not like not having upper hand. Not knowing things. Hate the girl for knowing what you don’t.”

He shrugged, as much as he could in the small space. “Information is power, gets you out of places.” He met her eyes through his goggles. The emergency lights were still flashing, and at this angle they made her face look drawn and tight. The scent coming off her though, had nothing in it of fear. “Don’t like trusting people.”

She turned back to the console and did something else with the displays. This he could sort of understand. It looked like a map of suns and their systems. “But she needs you too. Takes two to fly. One in engine room, one in cockpit. She will teach you if you let her. Fix grav boost.” A dial this time, and the image on the screen zoomed in on one of the suns “Trust her to get the ship back to civilization.”

Riddick grunted and scowled at her. “Don’t like civilization much.”

She giggled and he stared, wondering at her sudden change of mood. She giggled again, as if in answer to the thought, and he made a mental grab for the closest thing he could think of that didn’t have to do with her. He came up dry, with only the remembrance of the vanilla in her scent to distract him. She giggled harder and he snarled. “Stay out of my head.”

“Can’t,” she was doubled over now, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around her stomach. “You are broadcasting.” Abruptly she stopped laughing and took three deep breaths, the silk he hadn’t noticed rising in the air fading slightly, but not going away entirely. “Breathe,” she said. “Think on your breath. It will help.”

“You or me,” he growled, and was pleased to see her shiver slightly. 

She didn’t reply, just shook her head and went back to the screens. He waited, fingering the shiv in his belt and growling under his breath. Just as he lost patience and opened his mouth to demand an answer, she spoke again “Not so far at all. And too far.”

“What is?”

She pointed at the corner of the screen, where a set of numbers that looked like a date blinked. “She has been away from Mother almost three months. Captive for five days, ten hours. Adrift after Reaver attack for two months, twelve days. Attached to the Painwalker ship for two days, three hours and…twenty one minutes.” She shook her head and sat back. “Still in charted space. Unsettled though. Nearest uninhabited star system too far for practical inclusion in Alliance.” She looked up at him now, eyes serious. “At current fuel levels, at hard burn, chances of reaching a planet or space station to resupply are approximately forty-six point three percent. Is a week trip at hard burn. She didn’t float far, just long. But distance from occupied space is great enough that it makes no difference. Chances to make it while conserving fuel rise to approximately seventy percent. But supplies of food would run out. And there are still Reavers to factor into the equation.” She blinked up at him.” They come even now. They come when you call, after all.”

“And there’s still the beacon attached to the ship,” he growled and stood, all set to head for the cargo bay and suit up. He brought down a hand on her shoulder, the better to get her up and moving so she could help him pull the trap on the hull apart. She shrugged away from him and stood. “She was going to disable it,” she grumbled. “But a big  hwoon dahn followed her out the airlock, then had his men nearly strangle her when she went back for tools.” She glared at him, and refused to move when he took her arm and tried to get her to follow him. A shiv was in her hand and she set the tip to the underside of his sternum even as she dug her heels in and pulled against his grip. “Doesn’t matter now. Leave the tracker. Will need it in place.”

“What the fuck you talking about,” he nearly shouted. “Got a beacon on this ship. Calling who knows what in along with those  Reavers you’re so afraid of to blow us all to pieces. Want it off!”

She shook her head frantically. “Need it on. Need the Reavers to come. Only calls them.” She twisted her arm in his grip and got inside his guard. The blade was pressed to his throat now, and cool water surrounded them. He brought up his other hand to grab her shoulder and she leaned back and kicked him in the gut. The breath left him in a  whoosh of air, and he yanked on the arm he had hold of as he stumbled. The movement drug her forward and then he had her, wrapped in his arms, shiv at her back. 

She huffed and glared up at him and he stepped on her foot before she could bring it up and either try to knee him or get him in the instep. He’d forgotten she’d left her shoes off, and her cry of pain distracted him enough for her to duck and twist out of his grip. Glaring, she backed up till she hit the pilot’s seat and folded her arms. “Need Reavers to come.  Not afraid of them. Die like men.” Now she leaned forward and poked him in the chest, just as he made another lunge for her. “Need fuel. Kill them, steal the fuel. Make it to settled place.”

And then she was past him, running down the corridor towards the cargo hold and then down another hall opposite the tiny infirmary. Riddick grumbled a he followed her, threatening skinning and stabbing and anything else he could think of inside his head and  pushing it in her direction. This little girl was going to drive him just as crazy as she was. 

He found her in the engine room, half under the engine itself. For a moment he contemplated dragging her out, but the thought passed quickly. He still didn’t know the inner workings of this thing, and keeping on what passed for her good side seemed like the best bet so far. So he leaned up against the bulkhead and said “Still, don’t much like civilization.”

He voice was muffled, but the laugh was clear enough. “Loose term. Settlements on the Rim. Stay away from core worlds. Bright and shiny and  clean ,” she said it like a bad word. “Empty moons and fresh terraformed planets. Fuel stations though. And supplies.” A hand reached out and pointed at a toolbox sitting nearby, “Wrench please.” Riddick snorted, but bent to grab the box and set it closer to her hand. She sighed, but fumbled around till she found what she was looking for. 

“Set course in direction of Red Sun System. Blue Sun is closer, but not what we need.” She slid out from under the engine, dropped the wrench in the box, and scrambled towards the back of the room. “Dangerous. Under populated.” She looked over her shoulder at him and her eyes were huge. “Where she got taken. Killed six before they made her sleep. Broke their tranq gun when she woke up again. Woke to screams and grief. Then only silence.” She was fiddling with a nest of wires sticking out of a broken panel. Riddick leaned around her to see what she was doing and caught a whiff of the vanilla again. Before he could comment, she’d shoved a fistful of wires at him, still attached to something inside the hull. “Hold please. And don’t yank.” 

Bemused, the big man did as asked, occasionally accepting another wire into the bundle as she sorted through, trimming some, splicing others and ignoring the rest altogether. Her scent was all around him, apples and rain, vanilla; and he found himself content to just breathe it in. Something in him settled, and even his animal didn’t protest. Finally the girl spoke again. “Will probably end up on Triumph. Or Harvest if we can. Possibly the skyplex. But not Blue Sun. No Haven there. Haven is haven only for the dead.”

“What?” Riddick was confused now. The crazy riddlespeak had seemed to mostly burn out of her system with the last of the cryo drugs and tranqs over the last day or so, leaving her speech disjointed, but clear enough. Was she only lucid part of the time then? Or had the meditation worn off?

She giggled and looked over her shoulder at him, seeming oblivious to the fact that the action drug her hair, and therefore her scent, over his face. He snorted and backed off, trying to get clear. “She is better than she used to be. Talked of cattle not knowing what they were, cut the man with the girl’s name so his shirt was red and not blue, rubbed soup in people’s hair.” She sobered, and turned back to the wires. “Miranda. From the Latin. To be admired, wondered at. They wanted her to be a shining star. A world of people made better. G-23 Paxilon Hydrochloride. In the air processors.” She gave the wire she was working on one last savage twist and nearly shoved it into his hand. 

Riddick growled, but took it as she continued in a voice full of rage and sorrow. The wet earth was back, drowning out the vanilla. Along with it came steel, the smell of a good blade freshly honed. “But Miranda is horror and Pax doesn’t bring peace. Ninety percent of population on that  go tsao de  world lay down and  died where they stood.” She shuddered and took a deep breath and Riddick wondered if she realized she was leaning back, into his chest. 

Abruptly she straightened and went back to her wires. He tried not to feel the loss; he could see where her line of conversation was going as sure as if she’d drawn him a map. After a moment she continued. “And estimated three million became Reavers. Aggression out of control. Driven by rage and grief. After the purge…” she shrugged. “Unable to ascertain the remaining number. Nobody stupid enough to go near Burnham Quadrant and check.” She reached back and slipped her hand around his, dark eyes wide as she met his goggled gaze. “Wires back now please and thank you.”

Blinking at the sudden turn of focus, he complied, stepping back and leaning against the bulkhead again, although he wasn’t sure if he was proving something to himself or her. “Stupid plan, trying to fix people.” Stupid? Hell. Insane. His animal raged inside at the idea of someone trying to  fix him. He was just fine the way he was. Plenty had tried to fix him. He’d go mad and eat people too if they tried to dope him up with chemicals like that. 

River had stuffed the wires back into to wall and gotten the panel to shut over them. Now she was crawling over the engine, poking at this and that. He watched her for a moment, the line of her leg in the pants, the way the muscles shifted. Once you got past the fact that she had a habit of saying things that made no sense and apparently thought she was some sort of acrobat, a man could appreciate the body that housed the crazy. 

A wrench came out of nowhere, and he barely managed to catch it before it impacted with his skull. “The  fuck ,” he roared. “The fuck was that for?”

She was scowling at him, perched on top the engine and holding a blocky piece of metal in her hands. She hefted it once, and lifted it as if to throw. “Broadcasting again. She is not an acrobat. Dancer. And not as crazy as she used to be. Also,” she hefted the part again. “She is not a toy. Will not be played with and left alone. Not an object.” She glared and raised the part a little higher. “Academy treated her as toy, for their own amusement. Wanted a wind up soldier to go and kill the snakes in the grass. Cut off the head of the brown, kill the snake.” She slammed the part down on the engine and started finger tightening bolts over the pins that held it in place. 

Riddick growled and stalked over, picking his way past the debris on the deck plates and getting angrier with every step. “Listen crazy girl, “ he growled, leaning up so he could get in her face, free hand on her ankle and his grip tightening with each second. “You stay out of my head. Thoughts are my own.” He yanked, and she wobbled, grabbing for leverage and glaring down at him. “Wasn’t think’n you’re a toy. Man appreciates a good body.”

She tugged on her ankle, but he had a good hold and refused to let go. Switching tactics, she tried to kick him in the face, but he was ready for that, and changed his grip, pushing the force back at her. She nearly tipped off the other side of the engine housing and flailed, grabbing for purchase. He nearly lost his goggles as her hand scrabbled over his head and the snarl that ripped from his lips was more animal than man. She stopped and stared, but her eyes didn’t show any fear. If he had to guess he’d say it was fascination. 

And just as suddenly she was back to glaring. “Think to use her to get free of Painwalkers,” she spat. “Think to learn what you can of this system and kill her. Dump her in the Black where no one will see. Maybe have some fun before you do.” She made another, albeit less forceful, attempt to free her leg. He moved with it this time and managed to half drag her from the engine. She spat and hissed. “Long time ‘tween women. But she is not  his . Not a  toy.  Tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si!  Will no one let her be her own!? Be River ?” And she let go of the bits of engine she’d been clinging to and took a backhanded swing at his jaw. 

He dropped the wrench and caught her fist, snarling and wishing he could reach for a shiv. Girl was going to drive him mad. Stark raving mad. And all he could think at the moment, if he was really thinking at all, was how beautiful the steel and vanilla coming off of her smelled. No woman; not Carolyn with her guilt or Kyra with her hero worship, had looked at him with such unflinching fury in her eyes. Fry had been trying to get him to rejoin the human race, do a good thing, to help assuage her demons inside. Kyra had been mad he’d left her, determined to  become him, and ready to kill anything in her path to prove it. But she’d never had the bone deep fire that this tiny girl did. 

They hung there, the girl suspended between a hand on the engine, her other hand captured in his and a leg pinned between his elbow and his side. He was growling and she was panting out her rage in little huffs of steel and vanilla and it was all he could do to keep himself from swinging her around and slamming her up against the bulkhead. He’d never taken a woman against her will and he wasn’t about to start now. Her eyes narrowed and he felt her tense, then relax, and it dawned on him that she’d been thinking he’d take her unwilling. Do to her body what had been done to her mind. He nearly dropped her in disgust. 

Slowly, carefully, she pulled first her leg and then her hand free of his grip. He couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes as she lowered herself to the deck. Steel, vanilla, apples and rain floated through the air as she stared up at him, with something new cutting through them all. Mint. Slowly, carefully, she rose to her tiptoes and reached for his head, and when he would have stopped her his animal cried out in protest. So he let her run her hands over the goggles, took a breath full of the confusion of her scent as she hooked her thumbs under them, and braced himself for the pain as they came off. 

She only moved them far enough to expose his eyes, and rested her hands to either side of his face like blinkers, shielding him from the worst of the emergency lights. They didn’t flash in here, but the steady glow was bad enough. They stood for a moment, just breathing, and his animal noted that there was only the sound of one breath in the tiny space between them. Finally she tilted her head to one side and smiled slightly. “After they are free, then the man beast may  try . But he must remember that like will be returned for like in equal measure.” She gave his head a slight shake. “And he will remember that she is not a toy, not a  jien huo. Or she will take the skin from his back and use it for his burial shroud.  Dong ma?”

And then she was gone, yanking the goggles down before slithering out between his body and the engine and scrambling through a pile of electronic detritus before he could take another breath. And before he could reach for her and demand what the  fuck she’d meant she was shoving something in his hands. “Here,” she muttered. “Portable Cortex. Will help you learn. She cannot pilot and take care of engine at same time.” 

And that, apparently, was that.

 

 

Author’s Note : Yay! Another chapter. With…more arguing. And fighting. No, this will not end soon. I’m having  far too much fun playing with other people’s toys. Which reminds me, THEY’RE NOT MINE! The Firefly universe and all of its occupants are © Whedon. Riddick and his home planets are © Twouhy (I never can get that spelled right) Vin Diesel, and the Wheat brothers. Boo on them. I still think this universe mash-up would be the greatest thing ever. 

In other news, this story will continue! I really am working to keep Riddick all scary and badass, while still showing that his innards are made of marshmallows where women are concerned. I hesitated to put the mentions of him planning to kill River once he’s free in here, but I wanted to get the point across that he’s still reeling from Kyra’s death, from Imam, and even Caroline. We see him soften in the end of  Pitch Black , and grieving in CoR, and he’s not really looking to get attached again. And besides, River’s tried to kill him at least once so far and dealt a few hefty bruises as well. That tends to write people off his “Do not kill” list pretty quickly. 

Again, if you like it, you hate it, whatever, please let me know! I THRIVE off reviews. I love them! They are my lifeblood! XD

 

 

Translations:

 

huh choo-shang tza-jiao duh tzang-huo - Animal-fucking bastard.

 

ni zi-unsure.  I’ve picked it up from other fics. Assuming it means “little girl” or a variant of. Research online isn’t helping.

 

go tsao de \-  dog humping

 

Tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si- Fuck everyone in the universe to death.

 

jien huo - cheap floozy

 

Dong ma \- understand

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls. 

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don ’ t breach this. Fiery death!

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

 

_My captors are convinced that I’m pinned_

_Down in dependence on the system that fostered_

_An institution of thieves_

_But I live to see_

_The shock on their faces when my cell is empty_

"Off the Grid", Project 86

 

 

She didn't bother to say anything when a large hand wrapped around her foot. What was the point? He hadn't surprised her and she hadn't surprised him. He knew she'd been sleeping in the air ducts. He'd found her up there in the first place. She snorted to herself as she hung there, suspended between ceiling and floor, and felt his amusement wash over her. "Decide to try the floor this time," he rumbled, and she found herself incredibly glad that he hadn't fully sorted out which scent meant what on her.

It had been scent that had given her away the night before, as she'd known it would, but the value of sleeping near a mind that didn't scream at its own memories had outweighed the confrontation she'd courted by hauling her blankets into the airshaft and making herself a nest. It had been a risk to be sure. He hadn't been at all happy when she'd shoved the portable cortex into his hands earlier that day and started teaching him what meant what in the engine room. Used to having the upper hand most all of his life, being relegated back to the level of schoolchild had irked him even more than her threat to repay like with like. The threat, or promise, depending on the viewpoint, had excited him as well; and she'd sought her refuge in the comfort of metal and machines that could only whisper of what had been, not of current thoughts that teased and tempted.

But then night had come and she had felt her careful facade of sanity cracking under the pressure. The cries of the Painwalkers, marginally bearable during the day and made slightly more so by proximity to the Riddick, only increased at night. And her mind, left defenseless by sleep, had nearly shattered that first night in the room. So, shaking and trembling with others' nightmares, she'd bundled up her blankets and tucked them all into the junction nearest the Lord Marshall's quarters. And they were. Not the Riddick's, because she caught his disdain for the opulence of the rooms in brief echoes of his mind. He preferred a pallet on the floor, just enough covering to keep from shivering awake but not enough to hinder him should he need to rise and fight for his life.

She'd even gotten in a few hours’ sleep, wrapped in his dreams of a brief time living on a planet of sunlight and civilization and an even briefer time on a planet that would try to blister you with cold or boil the blood in your veins if caught on the surface. There was no panic in these dreams, no true fear. Only planning and execution of plans. It had been a comfort.

Till the fans in the vents stopped for the night and her scent had drifted down into his breathing space. She'd had less than a minute's warning between the cessation of his dreams and the jiggling of the ceiling grate to borrow just a little deeper into her nest before a set of silver eyes had surfaced over the edge and turned in her direction. "Can smell you ya know," he'd rumbled, and she'd been torn between begging him to go back to sleep and trying to crawl up and lay her ear to his chest so she could wait till he spoke again. Declining her instincts, she'd attempted reason instead, in hopes her body would obey. "She knows," she'd muttered and stuck her head out to look at him. His eyes had narrowed and she could feel him wonder why she'd never commented on them. Nobody had been able to keep from saying _something_ at some point, but she wasn't planning on indulging him any time soon. Privately, she'd decided they were wondrous, like a pair of stars brought down from the night sky and set in his soul as markers for the rest of the world to measure themselves by. Keep up but don’t step up or else you’ll die was a phrase she'd plucked from his head, and she was certain that she'd finally found someone who could manage the first and avoid the second in relation to herself. It was lonely being a weapon-girl-river, and she had a feeling that having a man-animal nearby would help alleviate some of that. But not if he planned to toss her aside first chance he got.

They'd stared at each other for a moment, him scowling into the dark, her with her head tipped upside down and the hair blocking most of her vision. She was in a bad position to fight, wrapped up as she was, but all she'd really wanted was sleep anyways. Finally, when it had become apparent that he wouldn't speak, she'd continued. "His mind is clear. Honest. Not screaming in pain. Much easier to sleep in his vicinity than in range of her guard." And she'd burrowed back into her blankets and waited till he went away, which he did with a long drawn breath of her scent and a delicious hair-on-end growl.

The following day had been more rounds in which he tried to get a rise out of her, any rise, and her alternated between losing patience and attempting to deflect the temper back at him. They'd danced around each other, and it had been made more complicated as she tried to keep tabs on the Painwalkers’ growing suspicions along with the fine tuning of engine repairs she wouldn't get a chance to test before they needed to come into play. Oh how she wished for the Kaylee girl! Engines talked to her, and only whispered to the river. She would manage, but her knowledge was from the cortex and what she'd picked up out of her sister-in-law's mind, not from a bone deep instinct for would work and what wouldn't, even without specialized training.

Things had come to a head when the navigator had come to the door of the _Hound's_ engine room and inquired, ever so politely, as to when his Lord would like to disengage from this foreign ship and continue on their way. There had nearly been blood over that and it had only been the Riddick imposing his bulk between her and the Painwalker, warned by the steel and rage in her scent, that had saved the man's life. He reeked, reeked of deceit and betrayal. Of self, of his old beliefs, of his current Lord most of all. He planned to hail the rest of the fleet soon and that could _not_ be allowed. Bad enough to have _one_ ship full of _go se_ Painwalkers so close to her people. An entire fleet of them would make the Reavers look like puppies in a shop. Add the Pax to the process helped create them and the recipe was for far more than disaster.

She'd regained her equilibrium in the moment between being blocked and realizing he'd done it on purpose, and grinned at the Navigator with her most psychotic grin. He'd flinched, as well he should, and the Riddick had rumbled a laugh before a huge hand had landed on her head and rumpled her hair. She'd snarled up at him for a second, before the half formed plan in his mind had made itself clear to her. Still grinning brightly, she'd hefted her wrench, listened to the animal's silent laugh, and replied for him. "She has offered to guide him to Haven. Place to bury the dead. The cargo in the hold will find a new home and the grief shall guard the dead." There had been interest in the gazes of both the men, and she could feel the curiosity of the animal next to her. She'd tried to look confident, tried to project it at him, the seriousness of what she'd said. She had meant it after all. It had been truth. But taking the Painwalkers didn’t work in the equations. The calculations only computed destruction. Painwalkers in the vicinity of Reavers, no matter how she juggled the math, ended in only one thing. More pain, more death, and a rampaging threat across the systems. Luckily, the Riddick had taken up the thread of the conversation and eventually sent the navigator away. She'd refused to continue in his game of cat and mouse for the rest of the day, and focused as much of her mind as she could on getting the engine fixed and the Riddick taught. It had irked him, and they'd nearly come to blows, but she could feel the rage approaching, it would be here soon.

It was here now.

She realized that she'd been hanging there for several moments, lost in thought, about the same time he started to slide one hand up he leg to brace her as she swayed in midair and his thoughts turned to something bed related but not really sleep. She tried to kick at him, and only succeeded in turning herself into a human swing. Or a pendulum. Now there was a thought. Maybe he'd swing her around like a rope tied to a tree. Maybe he'd take her by the hips.

Vanilla in the air, relayed to her by his interest in it.

Focus River. Flow in the direction needed.

"Let go of her please. She is quite capable of landing on her own."

He rumbled a quiet laugh, only slightly irritated. "You were going to land on my head."

Better sound apologetic. Not as if she'd meant to do so. Not as if she'd planned to. "Apologies. Only grate she could get open." He hadn't let go, and his hands _were_ on her hips now. No help for it.

She let go of the ceiling and felt him catch her weight. Apples and rain and vanilla bloomed in his mind, along with is mental assignments for each. Too close. Too close. Too close to knowing what she felt by knowing what she thought. Or was it the other way around? She was sliding down, hard muscles all around her as he controlled the drop. And then a hard something else she knew wasn't a muscle. Her mind froze. Ran backwards. Was it because of her? Did she really affect him like that? His mind had teased and hinted and outright blasted her with things he'd wanted to do to her given the chance, but she'd thought it was just because she was the first woman he'd had in reach in eleven months and twelve days. The holy man's woman didn't count. Or was it just because he'd been asleep and most men woke up like that? It was something she knew well. She lived on a boat crewed by a group of the most testosterone infused men she could think of and had the randiest sister-in-law in existence and didn't that twist the river now?         

Disgusted, she rubbed at her head, trying to get the mental images of how her own _brother_ woke out of her head and searching desperately for something to replace it. The knowledge that the Riddick slept shirtless invaded her brain, followed closely by that of vanilla and mint and...He couldn't identify that last one. She knew it though. Simon's cooking. She was giving off the odor of Simon's cooking as her disgust with herself. _Shun sheng duh gah wahn_!

He was laughing at her, mostly silently, but she could see his animal, gape mouthed and panting, teeth flashing white in the dark. Jaguars shouldn't laugh like dogs. And men shouldn't mock her for having hormones that reacted properly to their presence. She was actually a little proud of that. She'd worried at times that those hormones and reactions would be forever out of reach, thanks to the missing bits of brain. Never had she noticed man or boy before in this way. Maybe she wasn't a Pinocchio turned real girl, doomed to stay a girl and not turn into a woman. Not ever.

A distant flash of rage jolted her out of her thoughts and she knew she should be grateful that he was still holding her, even though her feet were on the floor now, but she didn't have time for this. Didn't have time for games or placating this man-animal. Danger danger danger. Gasping, she fell backwards and down, trying to keep her flailing hands away from his face so as not to further annoy him. "They come," she rasped, and tripped over a blanket on the floor. She caught herself, but it gave him time and an excuse, which he didn't really need but he thought he did, to catch her again.

"Who," he rumbled.

A breath. Another. A reminder to self that Reavers died like men, even on a ship of such size as the one that was approaching. Another reminder, this one of the fact that a ship that big had to have enough fuel left over after the hard burn and hard treatment to get them back to _some_ sort of settlement, if only they could make it alive to the hydrogen banks at its rear. Could the brain rewire itself to make up for a lack of amygdala?

He shook her then, gently, and she got control of her wobbling head long enough to peer up at him out of the curtain of hair. She could smell him, the leather of his harness and arm guards; steel of his blades, sweat, and something uniquely _him_ with no name she could pin down. It was the Riddick, the only solid and mostly sane person in reach, and she wrapped her mind around his and sank into the comfort it gave her, all unknowing to the owner. In its tree, the jaguar shifted over to make room for her, and its nostrils flared as she brought the sudden scent of cool water with her. She took a breath, dug her metaphorical fingers into the fur at the base of its neck, and opened her eyes again to look up into starlight.

"Reavers," she rasped again. "Come. Soon. Before the watches change." She knew her eyes had glassed over, but there wasn't time for a line between sanity and insanity right now. "The girl has killed the navigator before he could hail the fleet. Bridge crew is dead. Has disabled gravity staffs and most of the guns in the armory."         

And hadn't that been tricky, leaving her blanket nest and the clothes she'd worn for two days so he wouldn't notice her diminished scent in the air ducts and slipping around in the tattered dress she'd come aboard in. She had been able to pluck the knowledge of the weapons and their workings from various minds around her, and had thanked Shepherd's faulty God that none of them were too complicated. There was just too much work to do.

He tilted his head just slightly, and she felt him going over the bits of the plans she'd given him and filling in the gaps. "Bait?" Something in him recoiled at that, something about the blue eyed devil and keeping the girl with a boy's name from becoming so much meat. She blocked it as best she could and tugged on his arm with her whole body, leaning back and away. He growled and held her tighter. Stupid man. His jaguar just huffed and lay it's head on a set of massive paws.

"Yes bait. Cannot let Painwalkers roam free in this territory. Reavers will finish. Blow both ships when done. Obliterate. Only way." And she leaned back again. This time he let her go, eyeing her up and down and just now noticing the scent of her old clothes lingering. She'd changed back to her borrowed merc gear, and raided the _Hound’s_ weapon's locker for blades. She’d been looking for the sword especially, which she'd strapped to her back with a promise to _never_ let go of it again. She knew she'd break that promise soon, but it was the thought that counted. In her own head at least. Only words truly counted with others. "Need to go. Get the girl who wished to be him," she continued and had the private satisfaction of seeing him rear back in surprise. "Was serious about offer to guide to Haven and help bury her. Will be good home for her. Safest place the girl can think of. Guarded-"

"By grief, yeah," he growled and rubbed a hand over his head. "And how do you plan to get her to the _Hound_ without anyone noticing?"

How stupid could he be? Maybe he couldn't keep up with her after all. His nostrils flared at the smell of steel that coiled through the air around him and he glared down at her. She yanked her head up, pointing at the ceiling with her chin. He looked up at the gaping hole into the vents, then down at her and chuckled. "That will only work till you get to the airlock."

She shrugged. "Inconsequential. By that time, alarms will be going off on bridge. Crew will have other concerns. _Hound_ is ready to disengage. She disabled the trap, left it on Painwalker ship, took it off merc vessel. It has been a long night. Not much sleep has been had nor will be had." Now she grabbed his hand, huge in hers, long fingers ready to swallow her up like a kitten ready to be stroked. But the kitten had sharp teeth and sharper claws and would bite even as she purred. Bad thoughts. Distracting thoughts. Steel and vanilla.

She pulled on his hand, trying to get him under the hole in the ceiling. "Must _hurry_ you big _hwoon dahn_." She growled, and knew she'd just cemented the kitten analogy in his head. Not enough time to worry about that. "Need to have the _Hound_ disengaged and drifting before Reavers get in visual range. They must have a place to dock so that they do not blow us to bits. ETA is thirty minutes!" She yanked again and finally got him to move, although his understanding was laced with a good deal of amusement at letting himself get shoved around by a girl not even half his size. She wanted to kick him.

"An' how would you know that," he growled in her ear as he pulled her close and boosted her back up into the vent. She scrambled up and in, moving further down so as to give him space. Once he was up, eyes gleaming in the dark, mind anticipating being able to see her while she couldn't see him, she lashed out with a foot. "She hears your mind you _bun tyen shung due eedway ro_. And if she chooses she hears with your ears, smells with your nose and sees with your eyes." The last few words came out in a snarl, just as much at herself as it was at him. Hopefully if she continued to insult and abuse him he wouldn't keep trying to take fistfuls of her heart and wrap them around his, a process the jaguar was all too pleased with. It meant she couldn't leave the base of its tree and it could fall on her whenever he wanted. The man was all unknowing to be sure, but it didn't change the fact that she thought she was losing herself to him. At least he hadn't tried to change her yet, the way everyone else who held her heart did.

He grabbed her by the foot again, and she scrabbled at the sheet metal of the vent as he dragged her back and under him, starlit eyes glaring and lips pulled back in a snarl. He had to let go of her to attempt to grab her by the shoulders to shake her. He still hated the idea of anyone, even a kitten like her, in his head. She couldn't blame him. She didn't choose to be there in the first place, but with the link she'd established for calm came a wash of sensations and feelings. He was more disturbed about the lack of pain he felt from her sifting through his thoughts than he was over the idea of her being there in the first place. Not for the first time she cursed the Quasi-Dead and the Painwalkers in general. How could a people so far away continue to make the river flow so wrong?

Steel, apples and rain; cool water fading. The jaguar stretched and rolled in his perch, tail twitching. The man was still snarling and she heard the tick tick ticking of an old fashioned clock somewhere in her head. Not enough time. Too much had passed. Sanity slipping as the rage and grief drew closer. Time to move before all was lost.

She'd missed her chance to get away from the shoulder shaking. He'd been talking to her too, while her mind had wandered. Helplessly she looked for the big cat, but it ignored her, staring at the Reaver beneath its tree instead. Wise cat. She couldn't threaten it at this point, but the Reaver was screaming and waving a sword and trying to climb. Now why wouldn't the man see the threat as well?

"Are you even listening to me?" She could feel his voice in her bones and it called something in her, something that wasn't the girl, but wasn't the weapon either. The river flowed, mixed, and became a stream of blades that danced like the girl. The fog lifted, and although she could still hear the screams of the Reavers and the dreams of the Painwalkers, she found herself standing in a clearing, body of a Reaver nearby and the jaguar nearby licking its claws. Was this sanity, she had a moment to wonder; before the big cat looked up, stalked over, and swatted her tip over teakettle with a velvet paw.

Hands came down, clawing and scratching, and she realized that they were her hands, and she was digging furrows into the arms and shoulders of one incredibly pissed off, incredibly worried man who by all rights could have and maybe should have snapped her like a twig. Chest heaving, she stared up at him as she fought for control of her hands, but they still flailed and she couldn't seem to get her panicked body to catch up with her cognitive thought processes. She didn't get the chance either, as he laid himself over her, pinning her legs with his weight and dragging her arms up over her head. Apples, rain, and the overbearing mixed scent of steel and blood washed over and around her. He was still hard, everywhere, and she knew the vanilla would be too faint for her nose even as she fought the urge to _writhe_ under him. Why did her body and heart have to choose now of all the _shee niou_ times to decide to function like a normal girl's?

"Now," he growled. "You ready to act sane?"

Act sane. Because they both knew she was the furthest thing from. "Yes," she panted, trying to drag in air around the weight crushing her chest. "But she cannot breathe. Let her up please?"

He waited a moment, then raised himself over her again, but didn't let go of her hands. "You were the one in the hurry. Cost us time."

River was a little too busy catching her breath for a second to answer him, so she let her eyes do it for her. He smirked, as if he could Read and understand the stream of curses she was directing at him in her mind, and let go of her. The river was still a stream of dancing blades, and the girl and the weapon temporarily merged with it. She wanted to _go_ , to get this over with before she slipped back into the waking dream again, so she moved while she could, twisting over onto her stomach and crawling forward. He let her go a few feet before following. The jaguar wasn't amused. Entertained yes, looking forward to a good hunt yes, but not amused. Something had changed while it had downed the Reaver, and it had tasted the blood of the enemy and found it good. She only hoped that it would stop hunting her once it had found its other prey.

 

 

************************************

 

Her breath had steadied by the time they'd gotten to the cargo hold, and she kept watch over the ship as Riddick fiddled with the buttons, dials, and latches on the cryo box holding the girl with the boy's name. The only minds awake were the ones that should be, and the fresh cries of the guard she'd slain to gain access to the weapons lockers had faded into the background of the ship already. A hiss and the slight clunk of the box's lid being opened recalled her attention to the present location, and she peered inside, head tilted as she resisted the urge to stroke the dark mass of hair arranged around the pale stubborn face. She could hear the whispers, much clearer than they had been the last time she'd been in this room, of desperation and wanting, determination and despair. Such a sad girl, believing herself unwanted, driving herself to become worthy. She knew that feeling.

And then the Riddick was there, one hand on the shoulder in the box, the other entangled in that hair. He was looking down at the girl that lay there, something unreadable on his face but his thoughts full of regret and shame and anger. River wanted to reach into his mind and take them all away, to tell him not that it was all right, but that it was all right to feel helpless in the face of them. She did. She did all the time. If she hadn't come to terms with it at some point, she really would have merged with Serenity.

Not that there weren’t still times she wasn’t temped to try.

Slipping up next to the jaguar, back in his tree, she ran a hand down its back, even as she slipped up and laid a hand on the Riddick's shoulder. He turned to look at her, resignation foremost in his mind, and the question of whether he had yet another woman tying herself to him; and what crazy things she'd get him to do for her sake? River wanted to stop. Stop right there and absorb the fact that he was thinking of doing things that would save her, take care of her. All unasked. Were his innards made of soft caramel and it took a woman or a girl-child to break through the plascrete around it? No time for that now.

"Distance is short," she whispered. "Probability of being caught in the halls between here and the airlock is two point six seven percent if haste is made and movement is quiet. Will shave two minutes seventeen seconds off of time it would take to lift girl with a boy's name into vents and move her that way," She looked away from his gaze, unable to face the look he was giving her even as his thoughts roiled through her. Instead she fixed herself on the girl in the coffin. "Could make up for the girl going crazy earlier. More dignified."

Kyra'd never been worried much about dignity. River felt the tinge of amusement in the thought, and then the knowledge that he'd projected at her on purpose. She tilted her chin and looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering at how thought and action became one and at how he continuously surprised her. It was a refreshing feeling. He wasn't looking at her though. He'd reached into the box and, ever so carefully, lifted his past into his arms. River had to shut her mind to him then, all except the barest thread. He was reliving every moment since he'd met Jack, the blood, yelling, fear, and pain, all of it. She needed to focus, and getting wrapped up in their story wasn't going to help.

The halls were, as predicted, mostly clear. The sensors were just beginning to pick up the incoming Reaver ship on the bridge, but the place was only occupied by the dead, and so they couldn't see the opening and closing of the doors between the two escapees and their destination either. A few guards stood at their posts, one around a corner and stationed in front of the main weapon's locker, another placed in front of the way to engineering. It had grated at Riddick to be the one waiting, but it just wasn't practical to keep leaving Kyra on the floor when River could do just as good a job at getting rid of the obstacles. She'd let him know that with a solid glare and her scent at the first sticking point, even as she'd palmed a knife, twisted her hair up to stuff it down the back of her shirt, and ghosted around the corner. Riddick had his sweet spot that he favored; she liked a place a bit higher and centered right on the spine when stealth was needed. The height disparity was a bit of a problem, but she landed on the man’s back without tipping him over, even as his surprise shrieked in her mind. One hand clamped over his mouth, the other drove the knife into his spine in the gap between helmet and the rest of his armor. Her weight pulled him backwards as he fell, and she did her best to soften the sound of metal hitting metal even as his mental shrieking quieted and became the whimpering of the dead.

The next two were just as easy and just as unnoticed. The Riddick was watching her with speculation and something close to admiration, but there wasn't time to bask in the feeling of someone not _fearing_ her for what she was before they came to the last corner and a spot of trouble. She looked from the two guards in front of the airlock between ships to the mountain standing next to her and swallowed a sigh. At least he'd get to play. With hands and eyes, she got him to set his burden down, and even as straightened and asked her in his head what the fuck she had planned, she turned and skipped out into the open.

His shock and rage were things she'd treasure later, knowing she could pull the same stunts on him that he'd managed on her. In truth they were well matched.

And then the guards, equally stunned, leveled their weapons at her and asked very carefully what she was doing out of her room. She stopped, coming up on tiptoes, hands flying to her mouth even as she tracked the Riddick with her mind. He'd caught on, and was pulling his blades, mind sharp with anticipation. "Oh," she whispered in her most childish voice. "Is this not the way to the tea party? Madame Inerva will be _so_ disappointed!"    

The guards each took an instinctive step forward, not sure what to do about the girl their Lord had declared hands off, but not willing to take risks either. The step was all that was needed, bringing them just past the little half wall that guarded the airlock and right into the Riddick's reach. The scent of blood washed over him, and the liquid itself poured over the guard’s breastplate even as he was lowered to the ground. River grinned up at him, still feeling the streams of blades in her veins, as she pulled the knife from under her guard's jaw and wiped it on a bit of exposed cloth between armor plates. She couldn't tell if he blinked at her, as he'd hidden his eyes behind the goggles again when they came out of the vents, but she knew his jaguar had pricked its ears with interest, even as he growled at her for pulling such a stunt. She merely stuck out her tongue and palmed open the airlock, leaving him to gather the other girl and follow. She needed space. Needed to get away from the song of the blood that called her to dance death upon any in reach. Too long. Too long without proper calm and meditation. Too close to having come out of cryo. She could feel the balance slipping again, and a Reaver screamed in her head. Riddick plowed into her from behind, unprepared for her sudden stop, and irritation made itself known as he nudged her in the back with an elbow.

With exquisite care, she turned to stare up at him, cataloging the different kill points versus disabling wound possibilities in her head as she did so. The body in his arms was a weakness. Steal the steel along his legs and deprive him of those weapons. Hook a foot around his and bring the mountain down. Cool water was gone, replaced by steel, charcoal, and something he couldn't identify. She could. Witch hazel. Sheer insanity, not the slightly crazy of charcoal.

"Hey," he growled, and just like that the trance was broken. "Get moving. No time for losing your mind."

A deep breath. Another. She sank both hands into the jaguar's fur and buried her face in its neck as it nuzzled her shoulder and _purred_ fit to shake her to pieces. Centered now, she took one last breath and turned back around, leaving the man confused and angry and wondering why his animal was so smug in her presence.

Proximity alarms were starting to go off on the bridge of the Destroyer as they finished placing Kyra in the empty cryo box. No time to hide it. No real need to. River grabbed a pair of cargo straps and handed them to the Riddick, feeling the need to hurry beat louder with every pump of her heart, driving the blades even deeper into her skin. Box tied down, she ran for the EVA suits, grabbing the two they'd been using and shoving them at him. He snarled and asked what the fuck they needed these for, but she only had time to give him a look before getting behind him and pushing. "Hurry hurry hurry," she chanted frantically, cursing his stubborn need to know what was going on at every moment. Didn't he have _any_ faith in her? _Ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng!_

He finally got moving, and he had barely cleared the hatch when she slapped the button to close it and the inner doors. Surprise and anger at her betrayal roiled out of him as he turned, but then she was diving through the closing doors and poking him in the arm even as she tried to take the suits from him. "Quick, quick. Close this side. Disengaged. Visual range soon. They must be fooled!"

He growled, but did as asked, for once not trying to bully her with any of his foolish posturing. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief as she heard the seal disengage, and hoped that the spacer's lines she'd attached to the bulkheads of both ships wouldn't get damaged in the oncoming chaos. It was the last sane thought she had, as the triumphant shrieks of the Reavers ripped through her head.

Visual range.

She collapsed.

 

**Author’s Note: Hello all. So sorry for the delay. I was trying to get this edited a little better. Fix mistakes and all. And then life happened. Life being hurting both hands and not being able to write or type or pretty much anything for a few months. Add studying for a possibly career changing test to that and....yeah. So sorry. So I'm going to slap this thing up in chunks and I'm so sorry for the mistakes and stuff. I tried. I really did!**

 

Let’s get this over with. They’re not mine! Whaaah! I wish! But they’re not. Firefly/Serenity is Whedon’s. Riddick and his environs are © Twouhy (Sp?), the Wheat brothers, Vin Diesel, take your pike. But not me! Boo.

I have come to a realization the past couple days. This is going to be one looooong story. Not quite to the proportions of _The Firefly Chronicles_ (Hi Dayzejane!), but long enough. Dang these two and the fun I’m having screwing with their lives!

As for this chapter, it needed to be written, but I had River go off and do a bunch of stuff on her own, and THEN tell Riddick. I just didn’t have it in me to write all that down…

Thanks so much guys for the reviews as well. I’m loving the feedback.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

_Sights set on his eyes, mindful_

_Unholy beast, ignorant, prideful_

_With arrogance he gloats_

_I’ll play the darkhorse_

_Straight to the throat_

"SOTS", Project 86

 

 

Riddick figured that he’d had just about enough of this psychotic little girl for the night. He knew she'd planned to land on his head earlier; and pretty much everything from the moment he'd grabbed her by the foot had gone to shit since. Well, not her reaction when he'd held her after helping her down. But even that had been a special sort of fucked up. Not what he needed to keep his mind in the game, not then and not any time in the future. She was doing it to him, driving him right down into her own branch of crazy, and his animal was _not_ helping drag him out of it. Of all the times to go soft, he seemed to pick the ones where lives were on the line.

Fuck it all anyway.

And then the witch had collapsed, like she'd run out of gas midstep. He'd had half a second to wonder if it had been on purpose, and then he'd seen her face. Her eyes were glassed and her lips pulled back in a fixed snarl. Her hands clenched and unclenched, and it was a good thing she'd put her blades back, because he wasn't stopping to get them. Scooping her and the stupid suits up in a big unwieldy bundle, he ran. He could hear the alarms drifting down the hallways from the bridge; soon the emergency procedures would kick in and the second shift of bridge crew would be woken up so they could go check. And then all hell would truly break loose.

His mind raced, trying to see a way out, but the Reavers made an unknown variable, both in time and in threat, and while he knew that the Necros would be looking for the girl in his arms, he didn't really want them knowing he wasn't on their side any more. Not just yet. Every minute they weren't trying to lock him up and turn this ship around was another minute closer to true escape. He found himself in front of the girl's bunk when the first Necro rounded the corner from the bridge. "My Lord," the man shouted. "My Lord, the bridge crew, they're

all-"  
                "Dead," Riddick cut him off, and drew himself to his full height even as he hit the button for the door to the bunk with his elbow. It hissed open and he stalked inside to dump the girl on the stripped down bed. "I know. Someone," he turned to stab a finger into the man's chest, "Wandered off and went batshit. Where was the guard?" He had a feeling he knew. "Where was the guard for the bridge entrance," he roared, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man curl in on himself, just a little. Behind him on the bed the girl whimpered and rolled herself into a ball. He snarled over his shoulder at her and caught steel in his nose, fresh sharpened blades almost literally ripping their way into his brain. Nearly drowning that was the unidentifiable smell she'd been giving off ever since she collapsed, and he fought the urge to sneeze.

The Necro was stammering, something about bodies and guards, and Riddick rounded on him, shiv out and the blade on the man's neck. "I don't care," he growled. "Get back to the bridge and figure out what's going on."

The man never had the chance to comply. The ship lurched, throwing them both off balance and River nearly off the bed. Riddick felt the skin and cartilage of the man's throat part under his blade as gravity and the sudden movement did for him what he'd been considering anyways. Blood poured, and his animal perked up in interest. But there wasn't time for that. He could hear shouting, men having been thrown into wakefulness and looking for the enemy to fight. The alarms were shrieking now on the bridge, and over everything was the ominous noise of metal buckling and ripping. The outer hull, he guessed, and reached for his ulaks.

A small hand, cooler than it should be but still not the deathly cold of the Necros, laid itself over his just as he grasped the handles of his blades. Cursing the over powering scent for filling the room and not giving him warning of her movement, Riddick turned to glare at the girl. Her eyes weren't glassy anymore, and even as he watched something in her loosened. The steel in the air faded and was replaced by the cool water, deep enough to drown in. The scent he was beginning to identify with insanity, for lack of any other identifier, was still there, but not as strong as the water. His mind spoke words he never wanted to pass his lips again and she smiled up him, serenity oozing out of every pore. "She is with you," she answered, and he couldn't help the clench in his heart at that. Her eyes flickered and her mouth made a little moue of sadness. "He broadcasts again. She does not wish to make him uncomfortable." And her gaze moved past him, not really looking at the door, but seeing something else, something beyond. He waited, wondering what it was she knew, and she grinned up at him with a smile full of death. "They are here. Your warriors fight. And fall."

He made another reach for his ulaks, and she laid another hand on his arm. "Not yet. Let them kill each other. Big ship. Very full. Fewer enemies to fight each other means fewer for them to dodge."

It made sense, when he stopped to think about it, but it didn't mean he liked waiting for madmen to come and try to eat him any better. Dropping into a crouch and leaning his back against the wall, he pulled his ulaks and looked them over. "You know you're fucking crazy right?"

She giggled and dropped to her knees next to him. He eyes her skeptically, knowing she could probably come up fighting from that position just as easy as he could, but still thinking it was a risk she didn't need to take. She shook her head and pulled a blade from the back of her belt, running her hands over it as she breathed deep and steady. Meditation, he figured, and she nodded. He sighed to himself and cursed mind readers in general before turning his attention to the sounds outside the room. The Necros would be looking for him in his quarters, and it didn't sound like anybody had communicated his change in location, because all the running feet passing the door kept right on going. Screams, both human and feral, echoed through the halls and assaulted his ears, and he was starting to catch hints of old blood and gangrene here and there.

Luckily, his patience ran out just about the time to sounds of fighting began to die. There was still screaming, more of it even, and he figured the non-combatant crew had been found. Just as he was about to stand, the girl laid a hand on his arm. Looking down at her, he realized that he'd lost track of her heartbeat and scent in his concentration on what was going on outside, and she’d moved to face him without his realizing it. Focused on her now, he could hear the steady thump-thump of her heart. The insanity was creeping deeper into her scent though, and his animal raised its hackles at that.

"Many dead on both sides," she murmured, eyes glassing for a moment. "Necro warriors gone. Crew left. Way to bridge is chokepoint." She looked back at him and he didn't pull away when she reached up to lift his goggles. It was dim enough that the light wouldn't hurt much. "For his own safety, the jaguar must not get in her way. She teeters on the brink, and the river and the girl and the weapon have joined. She does not know if she will be able to unmix them when this is over, and is likely to strike to kill at anything that moves. She apologizes in advance for any injuries she will inflict." She took a deep breath, shuddering and squeezing her eyes shut. "Patterns broken, familiarity lost. Has been too long without true meditation and calm. Hormones off balance. The _fong luh_ comes, the moonbrain speaks and the sister becomes the weapon." She opened her eyes and raised herself on her knees to look at him face to face. Riddick waited, breathing in the growing insanity in the air, wondering if she'd snap right there or hold it together long enough to be useful. Maybe he should break her neck and save himself these injuries she promised.

She giggled, a high pitched sound like someone grinding glass, and he could feel his skin tighten at the noise. "One speed," she murmured, leaning close, breath ghosting over his face. "Do not stop. They will eat you where you stand. Or rape you. Bring you down, defile you. Big man. Lots of skin. New clothes for all. Do. Not. Stop. Moving." The last words were ground out between clenched teeth. "Stay away from airlock. Air leaks when seal forced between ships. Crow shouldn't mate with a tiger. Not compatible. Will need to come back for suits. Radiation in other ship." She inched closer, lips near his ear now, and his blood was singing in his veins with the need to grab her and do _something_. She giggled again, and he groaned and dropped his head. Cool hands at his jaw lifted his eyes to hers. "Do not force her when it's done. For your own safety. She has warned you. Feels the river merge. Insanity comes and becomes the kill. And the next. And the next. Till all breathing are not."

The screams in the halls were growing louder, and she stood abruptly, nearly giving himself a face full of her chest and then hips, so close had she been kneeling. The sword she'd strapped to her back was out and she was moving for the door before he fully registered what she'd done. And then the door was open and there was a _thing_ in it. It might have been a man, but now it was beyond animal. He cause a glimpse of metal hooked into the skin around the mouth before it went down in a spray of blood and he yanked down his goggles as he stood to follow her.

Events after that were a blur of blood, blades, and howling savages. They fought their way to the bridge and through it. Then, standing in the midst of the bodies and already covered in gore, the girl had thumbed the ship wide intercom and shrieked something in that strange language of hers. They had half a minute, in which he roared at her for her insanity and nearly got his reaching hand taken off for his trouble before the hordes descended and he lost himself in the fight. She fought with him better than even Kyra had; moving as she'd named herself, a river of blades. Turning, slicing, _dancing_ , she moved around him like grace unchained. Sometimes she moved over him, or even under, using his body as a piece of furniture to be treated the same way she was treating the rest of the bridge. He couldn't bring himself to mind, reveling in the glory of the battle, the blood, and the sheer joy of killing those that needed it. His animal had come to the fore, and it moved him in ways that the man, for all his killing ways, would never have imagined. He'd fought with and with Kyra. He and the river girl moved as _one_ as they cut a swathe like Death's harvest through the Reavers. Beautiful couldn't begin to describe it.

And then the screaming stopped. The last of the madmen gurgled out his lifeblood over their feet and the two were left, panting, in the emptiness of the bridge. Nicks and cuts covered their arms. He thought one of them had gotten a bite in and he fucking _knew_ that the first thing he'd do once they were home free was fucking _bath_ in disinfectant. He didn't want to think on some of the diseases these freaks could be carrying.

Across the bridge from him, past the ruined captain's seat and the sparking wreckage of the consoles, the girl stared at him, not a scrap of sanity left in her eyes. The cool water was gone in the smell of blood and opened intestines and he wasn't even sure it would have been the water he would have smelled anyways. Sure money said it'd be her insanity, and he tensed when her grip on the sword in one hand tightened in response to that thought. She'd picked up another somewhere along the way, and it sat in her hand, reversed along her arm like a mutated version of one of his ulaks. She brought it up, slowly, and stared at the blade as if noticing for the first time. Then, quicker than thought, she flung it at the last intact console, ending its screaming warnings and alarms in a burst of sparks and the screech of protesting metal. Riddick felt himself relax minutely, relieved that he wouldn't have to kill her for trying to skewer him with a sword.

Wrong thing to think.

She was there, dagger in one hand and sword in the other, screeching at the top of her lungs as she swung and cut. He dodged the first strike, blocked the second with his own blade, and rolled backwards into the hall to avoid the kick to the balls that the initial attack had been hiding. He landed on his feet, growling at the fresh cuts along his shoulder that came from the trip he just taken over the modified hatchet one of the madmen had still been holding. No time for that though, because he had to duck another swing of the sword. Snarling, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and slashed at her with the ulak in his other. She jerked backwards, and the blade left only a shallow gash through the cut he'd given her down one shoulder of her vest to the opposite hip. He followed up on the advantage of being inside her reach and reversed his swing, catching her an awkward blow to the temple with the handle of the ulak in his open palm. She let the momentum of it carry her back and around and she spun on her heel, wrist in his hand slipping with the blood it was covered in, and drove her dagger down towards the meat of his shoulder. He roared in fury and yanked on the arm he held, pulling her out of her spin and backwards into his arms. She shrieked in answer and threw her head back, and she would have broken his nose if it hadn't been for the fact of her height working against her.

His lip split and he tasted his own blood and the whole world went red. He squeezed her wrist and felt bones creak and begin to snap before the sword fell from nerveless fingers. He managed to get them tucked under one elbow, and the hand with the dagger in it got similar treatment. Spitting and kicking, the girl fair deafened him with her howling as he worked to keep her pinned. He could feel her ribs complaining, and it gave him a certain satisfaction to know that he could end this now. No more crazy little girls. No more being cussed at in a language he didn't even know. No body to speak for his having been here, killed here. Nobody.

His animal reared up then, fangs bared and a hiss of its own burning through his veins. And for once, while the sensation of it disagreeing with the man wasn't unknown, its actions were unprecedented. He could feel it in his mind, a giant paw laying his rage out on the ground and pinning it there. There had never been words as such between himself and his animal, but he had the feeling that it was trying. No, it was _telling_ him: Not alone anymore. The man lay, stunned in surprise. They'd always done just fine alone. It was when they let themselves get tangled with others, with fucking crazy women just asking to get themselves killed, that the trouble came.

The man grunted and tried to get his metaphysical ass off the metaphysical ground. Another swat, this one full of claws that flayed his chest to the bone, sent him back down. No, came the growl. Not alone. She is the match, the counterpart. Keeps up and we keep up with her.

The man couldn't help it. He fought. It was what he'd been born for, and it was how he'd lived. There was no submission in him. Alpha Furyan meant top of the pile, head of the pack, whatever analogy you chose, but it did _not_ fucking mean that he just rolled over and showed his neck, not even for his animal.

The animal sat on him and flicked him in the face with its tail. Smug superiority rolled off it in waves as it made its point. He was _already_ on his back, throat exposed. And it would not suffer him killing the girl.

The man still struggled, but he was weaponless and pinned and the animal's attention wasn't on him anyways. It had lain down, draping himself over his chest, and was staring off at something in the middle distance. He could feel it in his mind, reaching past the rage and the next thing he knew his arms had loosened and the hellcat he'd been slowly crushing was silent. Surprised, he twisted her around, checking for a pulse with the hand closest to her neck. It beat, fast, but it beat. Her eyes were open and the insanity that had raged behind them was gone, replaced with something he couldn't identify. He couldn't tell by her scent either, as covered in the coppery smell of blood as they were his nose wasn't much help. At a loss, refusing to apologize or explain himself, he stared at her through his goggles and waited for some sort of reaction.             

Finally, after along moment, a tiny smile worked its way across her face. "The jaguar likes me. Wouldn't let you take your chance."

He dropped her and stalked off towards her bunk.

 

 

She caught up with him as he exited, arms full of EVA suits, and she giggled as he shoved the smaller of the two at her. She'd found her sword again, and even managed to wipe the blade clean on something. She'd also picked up a wicked looking ax and stuck it through her belt. Her vest still hung open, but she'd scrounged something to tie the shirt beneath it shut and he only got the barest glimpse of skin through the cut.

She fell into step next to him as they headed for the airlock, only stopping the giggles long enough to warn him to breath carefully as they got near. He understood when they turned the corner. The other ship's airlock was much larger than the Destroyer's, and it looked as if the Reavers had simply fitted one over the other and then latched on somehow. Whatever they'd done though had damaged the air supply in the lock, and he could feel the drag in his lungs. He'd made it halfway across the space before he noticed that she wasn't next to him anymore. Turning, he found her, balanced with one foot in her suit, the rest of it in a heap around her, and glaring at the sword and ax in her hands. She looked up and for a brief moment he thought she was going to hurl them at his head, but she looked back down at her hands and muttered something in Chinese again. He had a feeling it wasn't anything complimentary.

"Just set them down," he grumbled, slinging his suit over his shoulder and coming back over to her.

She glared at him. "Don't like leaving them. Her trophies. She fought for them. Doesn't want to give them up."

"Then we'll come back for them."

She shook her head. "Can't. Need to leave ship to retrieve radion accelerator cores. More efficient to simply take them directly to the _Hound_ , as they need to be outside of that ship as well to put them in. Given damage to the bridge of the Painwalker ship, likelihood of being able to return for personal effects before catastrophic systems failure is five point two three percent. That is assuming that the Reaver ship does not blow first, considering we are about to remove the fuel supply of a ship still under power."

God truly did enjoy pissing on his head. It was the only thing he could come up with in reply to that, in his mind or out loud. She gave no indication of having heard, still staring at the weapons in her hands and grumbling under her breath. Heaving a sigh, Riddick reached for them, slowly and carefully, hoping it wouldn't set off another fit. It didn't, and he felt his animal, his jaguar, rumble in satisfaction. Closing his hands over hers, he tugged gently. "You can get new weapons. You don't get another life."

"But," and her eyes were full of unshed tears when she looked at him. "This is sword she took first time she killed Reavers. First time she truly took care of someone else instead of gibbering in the corner."

He tugged again. "And as much as I love that you're crying over blades, it doesn't change what you just told me. Imminent fiery death, remember?"

She pulled against him for just a moment longer before relenting and loosening her grip on the handles with a whispered. "Knew it had to be, but don't have to like it. Didn't want it to be."

Riddick's eyebrows climbed, and he knew she was catching the curiosity firing in his brain by the way she twitched and hunkered in on herself. "We get safe little girl, you got a lot of questions to answer."

That snapped her out of it. He actually kind of liked it. Poking at her for a reaction might be the equivalent of stepping barefoot into a pile of scorpions sometimes, but it was always worth it to see what she'd do. She didn't dissapoint. " _Liou coe shway duh biao tze huh hoe tze duh ur tze_! She is a woman grown, not a _ni zi_!"

Whatever the first part had meant, he figured the last one out from context, and laughed as he turned and buried the blades in the body of a nearby Necro. The man didn't twitch. "Still smaller than me," he said. His animal rolled over on its back, then flopped over onto its side, huffing in amusement. Looking up, he saw the hint of a knowing smirk on her face and groaned inwardly. Making friends with his inner beast was she? Without his say so?

"The jaguar likes her," she giggled and reached down to finish putting on her suit. "Tried to help her when the river and the girl and the weapon merged. _Did_ pull her out when he would have crushed her." The second foot was in the suit now, but she was having trouble keeping the arms straight while managing the helmet hooked to the back. He laughed when she growled and reached over to help, letting his thoughts speak for him. This could be useful, talking to her in his head, not needing to give away his position with actual words. If only she could talk back the same way, he'd never need vocals chords again around her. Which was good. She'd tried to crush them once already.

"And he returned the favor," she muttered, getting her second arm into the suit. "But in answer to the other unspokens, he will have to wait. She is too near the insanity still and needs time to regain equilibrium before she can speak on it without going...sideways again."

He snorted and left her to the final fastenings while he maneuvered himself into his own suit. "Sideways is a mild word."

"Accurate. Was no longer moving forward in thought. Not backward either. Up and down indicate enlightenment or stupidity and neither condition was in effect. Therefore, sideways." She caught at the back of his suit and held the helmet free as he shrugged into the sleeves, then turned and headed for the other ship. Riddick growled and did up the fastenings as quick as he could, not liking the idea of her being out of his sight or reach in such an unfamiliar place. His animal huffed again and he faltered midstep as what he'd just thought sank past the surface of his mind. What was this girl _doing_ to him?

"She apologizes again. But they need to hurry. Imminent fiery death approaches." She'd stopped and looked back at him, face unreadable, scent mostly contained by the suit. But he was starting to get hints of apples and rain again, and decided to take it as a good sign. And she was right. He'd had enough brushes with death for a lifetime; he didn't want to add nearly getting blown up on two mismatched spaceships from opposite ends of the galaxy to the list of things that had almost killed him.

The removal of the fuel cells ended up being the easiest part of the day, despite the fact that she'd told him that the ship was still trying to use them. Apparently a large cargo vessel, it had banks of the things, ready and waiting to be put into use. Which, given what he'd pieced together about the Reavers and what he'd seen of the main hold before the girl had found the button for the floor hatch, was the only reason the ship was still running. She'd explained in bits and pieces as they stepped over the little makeshift campsites and bits of half gnawed corpses strewn across the floor of the bay. Private vessels stopped at fuel stations scattered all over the systems, or 'Verse as she called it, and picked up the canisters they then inserted into their fuel banks. But since the stations were essentially just selling fuel rods in adapters of differing sizes, not fuel rods of different sizes themselves, it would be possible to take the cores out of the much larger canisters on the Reaver ship and fit them into the ones on the merc ship.

The process of removing them he left to her, and he watched as she inched along the ship, examining the fuel hatches with a cocked head and such a listening posture to her body that he knew she wasn't just looking at them with her eyes.

"He is correct," she said over the comms. "Some have been damaged. Reavers operate without containment. Suicide, but they do not truly wish to live anyways." She nodded and waved him over, pointing at the latched set around the hatch. "Open, and pull _very_ carefully on red handle within. Will release canister. She will remove rod when they reach the _Hound_." She moved on without checking to see if he'd follow her direction and he growled. Whipped. He was whipped by a girl-woman not half his size and the scariest part was _not_ that it wasn't new; it was that he didn't mind.

She giggled.

They ended up pulling five canisters, and he'd watched nervously as she tied four of them together in pairs with something she'd taken from the belt of her suit. Scavenged belts it looked like. The last she left loose, and kept herself as she handed the others to him. He'd given her a look for that, but she'd ignored him and scrambled past, down and around to the belly of the Reaver ship. He'd growled and followed, dodging the mangled and burnt husks of bodies that had been strapped down here and there and cursing this end of the galaxy in general. If he met a single sane person here, he'd be surprised.

He cursed her especially when he missed his grip coming around the bottom of the ship near where it met the Destroyer. Should have at least made her take one of the pairs. Then he wouldn't have to risk floating off into space. She'd been waiting for him though, and caught him by the foot and dragged him back. She was laughing at him, even if he couldn't hear it or smell it. He snarled. "We get shipside _ni zi_ , there's gonna be a talk about who takes the lead."

She shook her head, but didn't say anything for the moment. Instead, she point at the hull of the Destroyer. There, just centimeters outside the forced seal the Reavers had made, was a length of spacer's line. He followed it with his eyes and wanted to sigh in relief. At least they hadn't lost the _Hound_ in all of the mess.

Getting down to it and getting the fuel rods moved from one set of canisters to the other wasn't so hard, it just required care. And time. By the end of the process, Riddick wanted nothing more than to wash all the blood off and out of the suit. The stench was starting to get to him and he figured killing for a shower would be acceptable at this point; the extra blood would come off same as the rest. The girl ignored him, going about her business with the cores, putting the first four into their canisters and replacing them in the ship. That done, she'd crawled over to where he was waiting, impatiently at that, and handed him the last of the Reaver's canisters. He looked from it to her, eyebrow up, and grunted. "What's this for?"

"To throw," she said, grinning up at him, and pointed at the tail of the Reaver ship, maybe a hundred meters above them in space. He could see some sort of rotating machinery there, spinning slowly. "Knock out the last of the grav boost. Containment that allows ship to move forward as well. Imminent fiery death has not occurred yet. Blow the ship for certain."

It sounded like a plan to him. No point in leaving evidence after all, at least not intact evidence. So he hefted the canister, took aim, and gave the thing a very calculated and forceful shove. It drifted off course just slightly, but still hit the main mass of his target. A few seconds later the apparatus stopped, the mechanics started to twist and grind, and the Reaver ship started imploding from aft to nose. The Destroyer ship he'd never bothered to learn the name of did the same shortly after, and he figured it was probably the best thing he'd seen since he'd roasted the biorapters crawling all over a skiff and left a planet of darkness and terror behind.

Fucking beautiful.

 

************************************************

 

They didn't run into trouble again until after they were on the ship. Engine startup went all right, and he'd remembered most of what she'd shown him the day before. Once she was sure he had it down, she'd left for the bridge and what followed then was a flurry of barked orders over the shipwide comms on her part, grumbling on his, and a good deal of cussing. Finally, the engine had spun up, she'd gone through the checklist, and any doubts he'd had about her self-claimed title of Pilot had been thoroughly trashed. Whether she could land them anywhere had yet to be seen, but at least they were moving.

All he'd wanted after that was a shower. He'd seen a communal head on the first inspection of the ship, before the crazy girl had popped out of a box and started screaming and killing, and he was beating tracks for it when he nearly ran right over the top of her. She was coming out of the bridge at a fast trot, already undoing the vest, and he grabbed her by the shoulder as she tried to get around him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Clean," she snapped, and the charcoal and insanity started creeping back into her scent. "Covered in blood. Drowning in it," she tried to pull away again. "Can smell it. You can smell it. She gets smell from you. Feedback. Eternal loop. Must be _clean_!" And now there was the panic. But he'd had a shit day, had nearly been killed by and nearly killed a crazy little woman with more bloodlust than common sense. Enough was enough.

"Sure. Shower," he rumbled, "Me first though."

At some point he knew he'd learn better than that. Nest of scorpions and all. Turning out the lights and walking blind into a darkened coring room. Take the pick of fucking analogies. Didn't matter. She'd hit a nerve cluster in his shoulder and was sprinting down the hall before he even knew she'd moved. He ran after her, grabbing her around the waist and tossing her back behind him. She hooked a hand around his ankle as she fell and he got an up close and personal look at the deck plates, just before she literally _ran_ over him, planting bony heels into his spine. He roared and reached, but she was leaping, summersaulting through the air and landing just beyond his grasp.

Cursing and spitting he lurched up and forward, catching her again and rolling with her until they slammed into the door to the head. She writhed in his arms, planting a foot in his balls and an elbow in his jugular. The shock of it doubled him over, and he cursed himself for forgetting to put any armor on before psycho had decided to drag him all over the Necro ship. She was shrieking now as he crushed her, involuntarily but inevitable. A set of claws raked over his face and he felt the goggles go. His eyes had been open, and he roared again in pain as he got a face full of one of the lights at floor level. That loosened his grip enough that she was able to wiggle out, and as he scrabbled for his goggles and cursed at the top of his lungs she ducked into the head and the door slid shut behind her.

"Dammit girl!" Riddick lurched to his feet and pounded on the door pad. It slid open, to reveal the last of a bare foot slipping into the shower stall. He lunged, but the shower door nearly took his fingers off as it closed. "Get the fuck out of there!

"No!" The vest came flying over the door and hit him in the face. He snarled and grabbed it, balling the thing up and seriously thinking that if he just punched _through_ the stall door maybe that would make his point. The tatters of her shirt came next, and about that time his brain shut down. He could see her silhouette through the fogged glass of the door, slim and now mostly naked. Blood rushed, but it wasn't upwards.

"She hears you. Broadcasting." There came the belt and the ties she'd used to bind her pant legs. "Looking at her like _they_ looked at her. Covetous. Wanting." The words were a snarl that cut through the haze of lust and made his animal sit up and take notice. "Called it observation. Pretended to be clinical. Weren't." The pants flew over the door and he nearly lost himself again when he realized she wasn't taking anything else off. Not that he hadn't known in the first place that she didn't have any underwear. Nothing the merc woman had owned would have fit her, and the Necros didn’t carry anything like that.

But still.

Completely. Naked.

"Leave please," and now he could catch the insanity, the lemons and citrus of fear, and none of the apples and rain or even charcoal in the air drifting around him. "She wishes to be alone and crazy by herself."

Still growling, mainly on principle, because his blood had run cold when he had put together the pieces of what she was saying into the whole of what he knew of her past so far, Riddick dumped her bloody and crusted clothes in a heap and stalked out of the head.

He was in the cockpit when she finished about ten minutes later, going over the various screens and trying to figure out what the buttons and toggles meant. He smelt her first, a wash of apples and rain, the astringent smell of the insanity lingering, and over all, soap. He kept his back to the hall and waited for her to pass in a rush of pattering bare feet and thumping heartbeat. No fear though. That was good.

The shower was good too. He didn’t mind being covered in blood and gore as a general rule, so long as he had a chance to get rid of it at some point. And considering that the water was hot and soap right there, he counted himself lucky. There’d been some slams he’d been in where clean just meant you had less grime on you than the guy next to you. Something chimed at him a few minutes in, and the water started getting colder. He growled, but finished as fast as he could. Made sense he guessed, limited water supply and all. Didn’t mean he had to like it. Just one more thing wrong with his day.

A lack of towels topped the list. How had he not thought to look for something to dry off with? Riddick stood in the middle of the head, dripping wet, and snarled to himself. River. Her fault. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his head, thinking of her and how messed up she was, it would have occurred to him that he had no fucking way to get dry and no fucking idea of where to find a towel. Still growling, he hit the button for the outer door and braced himself, hoping the girl wasn’t going to be around. It’d be just want he needed, an untouchable woman running shrieking from his naked self. Cherry on the fucking day.

Instead, he nearly tripped over a pile of cloth and only just managed to catch himself before he tipped over. Frowning, he knelt to take a closer look. It was a towel. Sitting on top of a stack of dark clothing that he guessed was the closest thing to his size he was going to find on this boat. A faint yell of “You owe her,” came out of one of the bunks and he chuckled to himself before gathering the bundle up and stepping back into the relative safety of the head.

 

**Author** **’s Note** : Another chapter come and gone. Necros and Reavers out of the picture…or are they? Just gonna hafta see ;) This was a lot of fun, writing this one, but it was also tough. Keeping track of who is where and how they’re positioned when they fight has my mind spinning sometimes. Hope I got the information across all right. And I have to say, Riddick is too much fun to torture. He doesn’t take the abuse with any sort of grace at all either. That said, please please please **_read and review_** _._ I thrive off them, check the story management page obsessively to see who’s been in and who’s left me wonderful nuggets of love!

 

River, Firefly, Serenity are all © Whedon. Riddick is © Tuohy, the Wheat brothers, Universal Studios, and Vin Diesel. Dangit annyways.

On to the mutual lovings!

 


	7. Chapter 7

Ch. 7

_What big eyes you have_  
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad  
Just to see that you don't get chased  
I think I oughta walk with you for a ways            

 **"** L'il Red Riding Hood" Amanda Seyfried

 

 

                He found her in the infirmary, sitting cross legged on the single bed, hands palm down on her knees. The air was full of apples and rain and charcoal, but thankfully none of that unidentified scent that seemed to signal her willingness to kill anything that looked at her sideways. There was a tray on the counter to her left, full of bandages, tape, tubes of some sort of ointment, and a bottle of what he guessed was disinfectant. She’d bandaged up most of her superficial wounds, leaving only a couple of deeper bites and a gash over her shoulder seeping blood. There was a luminescence to her skin that made him think she was paler than usual, but her breathing was steady and her heartbeat regular, so she couldn’t have been too bad off. He took a moment just to look, letting the fact that they’d made it off the Necromonger ship and away from the Reavers sink in.

                “Others will come,” she murmured. “They look already. They never stop coming.” Her voice wavered, but her scent didn’t change and neither did her breathing. Her heart rate had picked up a bit though. “Already they look for the Hound. Been notified that the captain had caught someone of interest.” She lifted her hands and turned them over. “Which of the Tams? Or one of her crew? How useful would the captive have been if the ship hadn’t been lost?” Now she opened her eyes and he caught a hitch in her breathing. “No avoiding them completely. Will have to be dealt with like the last pair. Except it is unlikely she can get them behind the engine and fry them again. They will be both more cautious and more confident.” She shut her eyes again and hummed. “You should leave her first chance you get. They will take you too. And if they don’t vivisect you, they will attack your ears till they bleed. All blood. Every place a body can bleed.”

                Riddick snorted and moved over to the assortment of first aid gear. “Mind telling me what makes you think any of that is true?”

                She shrugged and he could feel the movement against his back, the infirmary was that small. “Limited precogniscience. She hears the river. It flows through her. Brings her voices. Mind calculates based on known quantities and variables. Probabilities figured, discarded. Clarity brought to bear. Likeliest course known.”

                That made him stop for a moment, hands wrapped up in bandages as he tried to untangle the words. “You see the future? Or you calculate the probability of future occurrences?”

                She sighed and turned behind him. He felt her lift her leg, heard it as it brushed against his shoulder, fabric to skin; and looked to the side to see it come down next to his arm. The other leg bracketed him on the other side, and then a small hand was reaching over his shoulder to take the bandage he’d been trying to get around his upper arm and finish the job. Pinning it in place, she held out the other hand, braced on his shoulder, and pointed. “Tape please.”

                He handed it to her, and held still as she finished taping the bandage in place. She’d braided her hair back, but still brought her scent with her when she leaned over his shoulder. Apples and rain. He’d never thought they’d smelt so good, separately or together. A tiny bit of charcoal, which he figured was par for the course when she was talking riddles. And vanilla. Warm, spiced. Like standing in front of a fire and knowing the cold was outside. Her heart rate was picking up, slowly but steadily. She finished what she was doing and leaned over just a little further. He could feel her breasts against his back, small but firm. Her fingers were tracing the bite mark on his shoulder and he twitched involuntarily as they grazed across his skin. Her heart rate spiked, then dropped again, and vanilla bloomed in the air, drowning out the charcoal and making inroads on the apples.

                Something clicked in his head.

                “Fuck,” he breathed.

                “She will not,” the girl replied, yanking back.

He spun and pinned her legs to his sides before she could pull those away too. “But you want to. All over your scent and you know it.”

She didn’t try to reclaim her legs, but the look she was giving him made him suddenly glad she didn’t have a shiv. She snorted. “Can hear you. Doesn’t need a blade.” And she curled a fist and examined it as if seeing it for the first time. “Cannot stop the fist without releasing the legs. Release the legs and she will leave. Will no longer feel her around you.” She glared at him. “Which he has wanted longer than she has smelt of vanilla.”

He chuckled, and was pleased to hear the thump of her heart tick upward again. She shivered, just a bit, and he ran his palms up her legs to her hips and wrapped his fingers around them. “Beautiful,” he murmured, leaning forward. “Never met a girl who could keep up like you do. Kill like I’ve never seen.”

She was trying to inch back, but there wasn’t really any space left on the bed for her to go. “Nice words. But she sees in your head. Still planning to leave. Don’t like cages. Don’t want ties.”

That brought him up short, and he stared at her through the goggles as his mind chewed through the implications of her statement. She was right. He didn’t want to be chained down. Being connected to him got people killed, and he was tired of looking out for them. All the way back to that first girl and the General, he’d been trouble for those around him. Better to go it alone, stay alive, stay free. Sure money said that it wouldn’t be any different in this set of solar systems than it had been in the last. She’d been right earlier when she’d said that the authorities would take one look at him and throw him in the slam. He wasn’t cuddly, he wasn’t gentle, and he didn’t make people comfortable.

He tilted his head, watching her eyes move. They tracked rapidly from side to side, as if she were reading at high speeds. Her face had gone still, and her heart rate settled, although her scent was still strong in the air. “Wouldn’t have to be ties,” he said, more to see what her reaction would be than anything. His animal was snarling at him, and he knew he was lying even as he said it. But he’d cut ties before. He could do it again.

“Lies,” she hissed. “There are already ties. That would cement them.” He opened his mouth and she clapped a hand over it. “No. She knows. She knows of sex and _sex_. Knows of fucking and making love” She paused and flinched as she caught the mental images that had brought up in his head. “ _Ge ge_ and the Kaylee girl like the engine room. Companion has many ties, built by money paid her for services rendered. Now she warms the Captain’s bed for free, for love. But ties are there and she calls on them in need. Stone woman with a heart sits in the bridge and stares at the pilot’s seat and remembers loving there.” She leaned in close, eyes hot with fury. “The river brought it all to her. She can’t _not_ hear. Even the man alone in his bunk with skin mags and a case of baby oil. Her education has been forced and she swore she would _never_ gain experience unless the other was willing to tie himself to her.” Her fingers were claws in his cheek as her hand clenched, and she shook his head slightly. “The _hwoon dahn_ does not want ties. She wishes him to be free if that is what he chooses. Will not cage the jaguar against its will.” His animal was roaring, saying that it most defiantly _was_ its will. The man aimed a kick at it. And just like that she was laughing again. “Nor will she chain the man, as stupid as he is being.” Her head tilted to the side, opposite the direction he’d tipped his, and she grinned suddenly. “Besides, he has never taken a woman unwilling, and isn’t about to start now.”

Riddick growled, a low rumble that worked its way up and out of his chest so slowly he could feel it vibrating his bones. She was right, fuck her. He’d never forced himself on anyone. And for all of what her scent was saying to the contrary, he knew that her words were what she’d hold herself to. Crazy woman.

She snorted and let go of his face. “It’s a popular theory. She is indeed broken. And it is true. Words are what matter when thought and scent can change so quickly. Betray so easily.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. The frustration in her voice matched his own, and the look on her face was that of a cat that had just been dropped in a pond. Pissed as fuck, and mainly at herself and her body for giving her away. She glared at him and let him laugh for a moment before poking him in the shoulder, right next to the bite mark he’d forgotten about. “Needs stitches. Give her the bottle of disinfectant and the tray please.”

And just like that, he’d sobered up. “No.”

She glared at him. “She knows what she’s doing. _Ge ge_ is surgeon. She learned from him. Has been helping stitch up the crew for years now. “

He eyed her skeptically, but nothing in her scent smelled of lies, and the vanilla was receding. Apples and rain took over, and even as she crossed her arms and huffed in irritation, he had to admit that it would be nice to have things taken care of properly for once. Provided she could do the job at all.

She snarled and poked him in the shoulder again. “The tray, please and thank you. And keep your insults to yourself.”

Still chuckling, he reached around and grabbed the tray. Things looked to be getting even more entertaining.

 

 

 

River sat at the table in the galley, feet propped up on a chair opposite her and crossed at the ankles. One hand near her stomach, the other elbow resting on the table. Her head lolled along the back of the chair she was in, hair falling in a curtain behind her, as she closed her eyes and listened for the river. It was softer here, this far away from people. Some of the voices were just indistinct murmurs. Others were loud enough she could make out words, here and there at least. The clearest were those she’d met in person, or those with strong intentions. At the moment she was listening for a set of voices that matched both criteria. She knew they were out there. She hadn’t been able to hear them before over the screaming of the Painwalkers, but she knew they were out there.

And not here.

The better part of a week had passed since she and the Riddick had escaped. The _Hound_ was holding up well, and the greatest worry at the moment was actually food. Not for lack, but for taste. She never had been able to get packets of powdered protein to resemble anything edible. Her one failing. She took comfort in the fact that her _ge ge_ was worse than she was. She’d refused to show the jaguar anything in the kitchen beyond what the shiny packets were and the basic theory of using them. He’d laughed, but she noticed that he’d shied away from them as well. Luckily enough there were plenty of canned goods, and even some prefab meals in the order of add-hot-water-and-let-sit-then-stir. They would come to the end of those in a few days though, and then it would be time to truly embarrass herself.

River sighed and shut her mind to thoughts of the man. He was dreaming in his bunk, of jungles and a stern faced woman with feathers braided into her hair. It was loud, and she dove back into the river again to avoid having to think on him.

But half her attention stayed on the ship, instead of out in the stars where it should have been. She cursed to herself, but let it be. Better she have some warning of when he came stalking her. He always came stalking her. It wasn’t quite a hunt, because she refused to run. It wasn’t quite a game, because there was no way to keep score. She wasn’t sure what to call it. But it was happening.

It had started a day or so after the talk in the infirmary. She’d been waiting, meditating in her bunk. Avoiding him. She knew the truth in his words, just as he knew the truth in his. What he didn’t know how she questioned herself. Was what she felt, the strength of it, just the result of the fact that she’d _never_ before met a man she was attracted to? Or was it real? The girl was crying, wanting what he offered. The weapon was looking at the fact that from day one, he’d never treated her like a child. Treated her like a lunatic yes, but she had acted like a lunatic. She’d felt what he thought as he watched her fight, and as he fought alongside her. He’d seen a girl, a woman, whatever she was, who didn’t fear him. True, sometimes he thought she was too crazy to fear him, but he’d appreciated that she didn’t stink of lemons and oranges around him. Tickled his nose. Made him want to sneeze, at least in combination with her other scents. The weapon also pointed out that he had trusted her, to a degree. Listened when she told him what needed to be done to save them. The girl was remembering how he’d scented her that in the Painwalker infirmary. How he’d come looking for her in the air ducts and then left her alone when she didn’t prove a threat. So many actions and reactions. But over it all she remembered feeling his driving need to be _free_. All his past ties had ended in pain. How could she repay the trust he’d given by expecting him to chain himself to her?

So she’d waited till the dead of night, gathering her mind and making herself as sane as she could before stretching out and heading for the cargo bay. Kyra’s coffin had been moved to the edge of the room, the pit in front of the infirmary covered over. He must have done that sometime while she was in her bunk that day. All the better then.

She’d taken a couple running steps and leapt, straight into _The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy_. She had the music memorized, it played in her head as she turned, stepped, twisted. It was harder, not having the proper shoes, and the open grating of the cargo bay deck threatened to take her toes off a time or two, but it felt good. It felt right, to be moving like this. She knew she was graceful, knew she danced as much as fought. But this, this was her past. Before the Academy and their needles and knives. This was who she had been meant to be, a free spirit with the worlds at her beck and call. Theoretical physicist by day, prima ballerina by night. Why shouldn’t she have had it? She’d been a genius after all. Still was in fact, with a few added bonuses and a great many more pieces missing out of the puzzle. She comforted herself with the fact that even though she didn’t have an audience or a place to publish papers she could still, for a few moments, be the old River.

Except she did have an audience. He’d come on cat feet, breathing quiet, to see what had happened to the presence of the girl who’d spent most of two days in her bunk. It had been the lack of heartbeat that had woken him. Quiet as it had been, his animal had noticed when it was gone. So he’d tracked her out here, smelling apples and rain, a bit of cool water, a little mint for flavor. Now, silk was what she smelled, fed to her brain by his animal as starlit eyes watched her from the corridor. The animal was pleased, and nuzzled her behind the metaphorical ear before settling back on its haunches to watch and pass along its impressions. She’d faltered, just slightly, at that, and the man had tensed. What he had planned to do if she fell she didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know where it could lead. So she’d pretended not to notice him, finished the piece, and launched straight into another.

This had no name. Bits from this and bits from that. A whirling dervish of movement as her weapon-self sought to drive out the girl and the girl clung to sanity. The river had flowed then and she’d taken it, pulled it into herself, and used it to merge the two halves of her broken soul. The man had been forgotten, the jaguar a warm fuzzy presence in the back of her mind, his rumbling purr giving the time to her steps. She danced till her legs shook and the rest of her muscles burned. She had stubbed her toes, twisted her ankle slightly at one point, and scraped her feet on the grating until the red shoes were no longer metaphors in her mind, but a bloody reality. And still she danced. She couldn’t not. There was no one to criticize her, only four voices in her head; and the joy of having complete freedom of movement without having to worry about judgment for the first time in years had made her drunk on the feeling. She didn’t want to stop. To stop meant she’d go back to being broken; being cracked down the middle with both halves pulling for a goal she that knew would break her heart if she let it. He would leave, and she would do everything in her power to make it possible. She was experiencing freedom now. What right had she to take his?

And then he’d been there, one arm wrapping around her middle, the other blocking the strike she made for his head. Had she been dancing? Or fighting shadows? Even in the present tense, the girl wasn’t sure. The weapon said that it didn’t matter what it was called, it was all battle. But at that moment silver eyes had met hers and she’d felt her legs go out from under her as the pain in her feet caught up with her nervous system. He’d caught her as she fell, one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, and carried her back to her bunk. He only stopped long enough to set her on the counter in the infirmary and gather up some supplies. She’d sat, glassy eyed with exhaustion and her muscles quivering even as they burned with slow fire. Stupid. Stupid girl. What had possessed her?

She hadn’t worked out an answer before he’d scooped her up again with one arm, piled the bandages and other assorted gear onto her belly, and hooked the other arm under her legs. She had managed to get a hand up to steady the pile, but she didn’t anything left in her beyond that. The jaguar had wrapped itself around her mind, still purring, and laid its tail over her thighs. The man’s mind had wandered through many different thoughts, and she knew instinctively that he was choosing them carefully, the better to keep her from knowing what was going on beneath the surface. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to bother. She’d caught it all from the river and the jaguar. His animal was betraying his better interests, but she wasn’t about to tell him so. It was a fight he’d have to have with himself.

He didn’t speak the entire time he cleaned and bandaged her feet, and she didn’t try to make him. She knew her scent was mixed, the silk gone now; apples and rain buried under blood and sweat and the malt of exhaustion. She’d held what needed held, lifted her feet and legs when his hands and mind told her to, and generally let herself be taken care of. She had known that she’d be going barefoot for the rest of the trip. Shoes weren’t worth the trouble anyways. This was just a good excuse, to her mind at least. He thought she had a death wish, and he wasn’t far wrong sometimes. But she hadn’t wanted to break the comfortable silence. For once they weren’t fighting, mocking each other, or wanting things not mentioned in polite company. She snorted at the memory. Her _ge ge_ was the only polite company she knew these days anyways, and the river told her she had a niece or nephew coming as the result of his goings on with the Kaylee girl. Polite company indeed.

Even after he was done she’d sat there, still swaying slightly, feeling the purr of the jaguar; and the chanting of the weapon was telling her that now that her feet were bound, she could probably manage a few more measures of dance. As if he’d caught the thought somehow, though she knew nothing had changed in her scent, he’d placed his hands on her knees and pressed down. She could read the threats he’d carry out if she tried a stunt like the one she’d been half planning, and all unbidden, she’d giggled. He’d frowned, and opened his mouth to growl something at her, and as much as she loved to hear his voice wash over her, she’d placed a finger on his lips. “She promises. She will attempt to let her feet heal.”

He’d growled and subsided then, and the jaguar had flicked an ear and huffed in amusement. A gentle shove to her shoulder had sent her flopping over backwards onto the bed, and she hadn’t found it in her to fight. There was no want in his mind, no need. Just the intent that she rest, let her feet and legs heal so that she could pull more crazy shit like that at a later date. He’d enjoyed the show. She’d snorted and squirmed back into the bed, ignoring the rush of blood that set off in his nether regions and the images the jaguar sent her, and wrapped herself up in a blanket. He’d waited a moment, then left, pausing a moment in the door to let his ungoggled eyes run over her body one last time before returning to his bunk. She’d waited a beat, another, and then slipped out of bed and stretched again. Limping she’d be the next day, but not crippled. She’d fallen asleep with her feet spread wide; her torso stretched flat in front of her, arms reaching for her heels. Luckily, he hadn’t caught her like that the next morning.

They didn’t need many words. He responded to the changes in her scent and heartbeat, she skimmed the surface of his thoughts and sometimes passed things on to the jaguar. Occasionally it seemed as if the jaguar passed them on to the man, as he handed her a part she hadn’t said she needed, or understanding of a symbol or character came just a little quicker. She was cramming as much knowledge of the bridge into him as she could, trying to prepare them both for the day she dropped him somewhere populated. Every once in a while he thought of trying to take the _Hound_ from her and going off on his own, but the words she’d said to him before about needing two to fly tended to cut that line of thought off while still in bud form. She’d told the truth, but strictly speaking, he could have managed it alone. So long as he wasn’t being chased, or having issues with reentry of an atmosphere, or any of a hundred problems that would require hands in the engine room and hands in the bridge.

As a consequence, she’d taught him and he’d learned. They ate prepackaged meals and canned food mostly cold. And his mind was exceptional. Weeks of the aforementioned time awake in cryo meant that he’d had the option of going crazy or keeping it in order. The animal had helped, for sure, but the man had had an equal part in it, and the wonder wrought between them was a balm to be near. He’d a great deal of time in space, but it was usually stationary, not able to move around and keep the body as busy as the mind. When he had dragged the weight bench out to the center of the hold on the third day, she’d laughed, patted him on the shoulder, and gone to fetch some athletic tape she’d found in one of the empty bunks. He’d taken it with a raised eyebrow and she had shrugged, telling him there was a punching bag in that bunk as well and he would probably need the tape. He’d shrugged and started wrapping his knuckles and she’d left him to it. They kept it dark in the public areas of the ship, just light enough that she wouldn’t trip over something with her stiff feet, and she had wanted to draw.

So she sat in her bunk with the light on while he worked out his excess energy on the weights and then pulled the punching bag out and hung it from a beam. She didn’t want her scent to give her away, watching the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders, and she hoped the longer she stayed out of sight the better he would forget that she wasn’t nearby. It wasn’t comfortable, living like this with the said and unsaid between them, but they’d manage somehow. She was just surprised he hadn’t resorted to Jayne measures to keep his libido down, but then again, that would have meant she’d get the brunt of whatever went through his head in the process, so she chose to just be grateful instead.

Eventually though she’d wandered down to the bay and sat on a bench near the weapons locker. If she was going to let this man go, even if what she was feeling wasn’t forever, she was going to get an eyeful while she could. Something in the rhythm of his punches had spoken to her, and without thinking about it, she’d started calling time, using flight deck terms instead of numbers. He’d stopped, surprised, and she’d shoved a mental image of what she wanted at the jaguar. It had snorted, amused at the idea of the animal helping teach human things, but agreed. After a moment, the man seemed to catch on and after a brief nod had returned to the bag. She had drilled him in terminology, and he’d replied back with English translations, or the appropriate response to the situation, or whatever button needed to be hit next, and between the physical exertion and the mental, they’d both managed to ignore the smell of vanilla in the air.

The pattern of their days had been set after that. She did slow katas instead of dancing at night; he watched her, checked her feet and rebandaged them with clinical impersonality. She would meditate in her room or draw, and then drill him in flight protocols while he beat the _go se_ out of the punching bag during the day. Sometimes she’d find him seated next to the coffin, a portable cortex screen in his hand and lips moving silently. She never stayed in the bay then. It felt like intruding. He never commented on it. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t let him actively fly the ship, however much he learned. They were on a set course with a limited fuel supply and no leeway for experimentation.

 

But this night, she’d been frustrated. He was dreaming. A memory of another dream or a current one she wasn’t sure. But it had woken her, and she had come down to the galley to try and put it out of her mind. Stupid to be jealous of the hold the woman in the dream had on him. Just plain stupid. She gave the unopened whiskey bottle on the table a little shove with a finger and sighed before dropping back into the river again. Wandering thoughts did not help her find the voices she sought.

How long she’d sat there she did not know. But she found the voices and nearly wept at the pain in them. How she longed to reach out with physical arms and touch them, tell them she still lived. She sat instead, and listened as they dreamed in images of death and sorrow. Even the little one knew something was terribly wrong on her home, and dreamed of great darknesses that reached up to swallow her. Her cries brought the mother, a smooth voice of velvet and steel that whispered and comforted as she wrapped a blanket around the little body and brought her to the galley. The man with a girl’s name was there, guitar in his lap, a mute clipped around the neck, and a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. River’s lips twitched and she knew suddenly why she sat as she did. The guitar was a fine thing, tiger maple and ebony. Mother of pearl inlay and pegs. The strings were new, and tuned just so. His fingers ran over the frets and plucked at the strings, quiet as could be, until he noticed that he had company. Kicking out a free chair, he shifted so his legs weren’t in the way of them sitting down, then stood to go dig in the pantry. A few moments later he came back with a cup of some pureed fruit and a bitty spoon and the woman gave him a wry smile. Big tough merc, he groused, and picked his guitar back up.

A shift in the air around her nearly jolted the girl out of the river. She held still and clung to the current, bringing her hands up in mimicry of the man’s in an effort to help keep her mind in that far distant room, not the dark empty galley her body was stuck in. She reached, and wrapped a tendril of thought around the minds of those in the room before opening her eyes to meet glinting silver orbs not ten inches from her own. The Riddick tilted his head and his nostrils flared as he tried to figure out her scent. She wasn’t in the mood to enlighten him and say that when charcoal and fire mixed she was really only present in body and that her mind was, quite literally, wandering. Instead she moved her hands, one over her stomach, plucking and strumming at invisible strings; while the other splayed over frets and changed the notes as needed. It wasn’t a song with a name. He was playing something vaguely like a lullaby he’d heard as a child, as the woman fed the little girl and rocked in time to the music.

When the Riddick reached for her hands she gave a little lunge and snapped her teeth at him. “Leave be,” she whispered. “The girl flows with the river and finds her crew. Man with a girl’s name has received proof of forgiveness and plays now for the child to sleep and dream of stars instead of all consuming darkness.” She jerked her head at the whiskey bottle. “Drink if you must. Forget about jungles full of headstones, _gwon nee ju jee du shu,_ but leave the girl.”

He curled a lip and growled at her, but didn’t try to touch her again. Neither did he reach for the whiskey. Instead he sat in the chair at the head of the table and folded those long fingered hands beneath his chin. She closed her eyes and ignored him. The child was quieting and so too was the music. Finally his fingers moved, but only to have something to do. The strings were silent, and his thoughts turned from the child asleep in her mother’s lap to another girl child. Woman. Crazy. They still hadn’t found hide or hair of her, and every contact Inara or any of the rest had been able to scare up said she’d dropped out of the ‘Verse. He was a tracker with nothing to track, and it was ticking him off something fierce. The Captain had turned all sorts of violent lately; the Doc had started wanting to learn to shoot. Nigh on five years in the black and the pretty boy finally wanted to learn to handle a gun. Better late than never the man supposed, but what the Doc would _do_ with the knowledge was a thing that didn’t sit well on the brain. The woman across from him was still a solid rock, the one you tied off to when you started drifting and lucky for them all the Captain still listened when she put her foot down. Between her and Inara they had him fairly well managed, and had kept him from getting them all shot or blown up countless times since they’d started their hunt. He wished for a moment for Wash, or Book, or even better, both. As much as the pilot had annoyed him he’d made Zoe smile, and even now, years later, she didn’t crack the façade for anyone but Sierra. Losing the Moonbrain had just made it worse. As for Book? Well the man knew things. Things no Shepherd should know. Had a way of telling it to a man straight too, and a good spotter for the weights. Damn shame he weren’t around.

River didn’t realize she’d been speaking until she caught the jerk of the Riddick’s head and the narrowing of his eyes as transmitted to her by the jaguar. The intrusion shook her out of the river and she sighed as she let her hands drop into stillness again. The man across from her had his hands flat on the table and was rising slowly, carefully, as if she were an animal about to bolt. She snorted at the mental image and laid her head back on the headrest. “Apologies. She swims the river. Found her crew.” And now something was tightening in her chest and she clenched her hands together in memory. “They scour the stars and court death to find her. No trail to track. No scent, nor footprints. No snags of cloth on conveniently broken branches.” The thing in her chest was tightening further and she swallowed hard. “They will kill themselves looking.”

The Riddick rumbled without words and sat back down. “That so,” he said finally. His voice was flat, but his mind was saying it was too soon, too soon. The man hadn’t resigned himself to giving her up just yet, and the animal didn’t want to give her up at all. He was keeping himself in the chair by strength of will alone, and one wrong move from her would see the animal winning, table flying and those arms carrying her to his bunk, never to be let go again. River allowed herself a moment to dream of it, to pretend it would be the thing she could allow, and she was gifted with a draft of warm vanilla crawling like lava down her spine. Cursing to herself, she placed the image she’d found of her _ge ge_ and Kaylee in the forefront of her mind and the disgust effectively wiped out the vanilla. She never needed to see her brother like that. It reminded her that he was human.

The Riddick stiffened when her scent changed, and she wanted to explain that it wasn’t him, but it was in an oblique way, and it was better this way anyhow. So instead she raised her head and looked him in the eye. “Will have to contact them sooner than previously thought, if only to keep them from doing something monumentally stupid.”

He snorted and reached for the whiskey bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a long pull. “That so?” He was trying not to let his anger at her sudden change in scent show in his body or voice, but his mind was shoving it at her. His resolve to leave had just strengthened, and while part of her was grateful, the other part wanted to throw herself at him in apology. Sternly, she sat on both parts. He was his own; she could not ask him to change for her. He had not asked it of her after all.

That forced her mind down another path, a difference current, and suddenly she wanted to run. Run to her bunk, run to the bridge and turn the ship around, anything to get away. The fear bloomed in her, and the air took on lemons and limes and all manner of citrus fruit as she sat glassy eyed and panting. It had been a trickle of thought, triggered in memory by the mental image of Simon. Cotton and wool, mind tied up with the body. What had happened to her, he wondered. Was she ok? Was she still stable? Would she be even the River of the last few years if they ever found her again? They would find her. They had to find her. And once she was found, he’d do everything in his power to keep her from getting taken again.

Her skull bounced when it hit the deck. She didn’t even have it in her to squawk, so surprised was she. The man was up and around the table before she’d even landed, and one of her flailing arms caught him behind the knee. He let the accidental motion carry him to the floor as he knelt and reached for her shoulders. No! Not what she needed. Not more protection and worry! With a hoarse cry she curled in on herself and toppled sideways, away from him and under the table. She could feel tears rising and wanted to stop them, but she’d been holding back for _so_ long, couldn’t she have this one thing? This moment?

And then he was there again, dragging the chair away and crouching to reach under the table. He wouldn’t fit; she could see it in his mind, so he pulled her out as gently as he could. His mind was saying the words he refused to speak and she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t do anything but shake and sob and chant “ _Wuoshang mayer, maysheen, byen shr to,_ ” through a broken soul. Muscled arms rearranged her across his legs, and she could feel his jaguar in her mind. It had dropped out of the tree where it had been watching the precedings and paced over to her like she was prey and not a girl. She did her best to ignore it, hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear the angry rumble of the man’s voice. She could feel it though, down to her bones, and she wondered at the fact that they weren’t melting. The jaguar stopped just out of arm’s reach, crouching more than sitting, and she knew she should be bracing herself for whatever was coming; but her mind wouldn’t stay put long enough to process any more than that. She was in Serenity’s infirmary, crazy and drugged. She was in the Academy, needles in her brain and in her eyes. She was in a cryo box, listening to the screams of strangers as they were eaten alive. She was everywhere but the present and in every place she was she was not free to do as she wished. She was prisoner, no matter where she went and what she did.

Her head bounced again, this time from a metaphysical swat instead of a physical landing, and her vision cleared just enough to show her the jaguar standing over her, breath hot in her face and teeth bared, demanding that she _get up_. Pull her mind together and get the fuck up before the man did something truly drastic. She scrambled backwards, but ran into the tree. The one jungle tree in an open empty place, rich in scents but spare in everything else. The big cat followed her, one huge paw in front of the other, and when she ran out of room to try and get away it reared back and raised another forepaw in readiness.

River shot forward, cracking her skull against a very _hard_ forehead, and she cried out, clutching at it. The Riddick jerked back before he could get brained again or clawed by her hands and nearly dropped her in the process. She wavered, tipped, and was gathered back up again as her balance started to go. Panting, she pressed an ear to the landslide in his chest and clutched at his arms for support. They tightened infinitesimally before loosening and turning her so she could meet his eyes. “What the fuck,” he muttered, and she wanted to giggle at the confusion on his face and in his head. “The fuck was that all about?”

She stiffened and nearly lost herself in the river again as her short term memory caught up with her. The jaguar lifted an experimental paw and she threw herself back into the present. The scent of lemons was still in the air, along with charcoal and steel. That surprised her, until she thought it through. Of course she’d been angry. Her _ge ge_ wanted to wrap her up like a doll again, dose her at the slightest hint of instability, and generally treat her the way he had that first year after he’d gotten her out. She’d needed it then, at least some of it, but since the Miranda wave went out and the pea had been taken from her pile of mattresses, she’d been much better. It had taken screaming and fighting and the threat of leaving forever, but she’d eventually gotten him to wean her off of most of the drugs and had been using mainly meditation and the occasional hormone therapy to keep herself on an even keel ever since. But he feared what the capture would have done to her and was fully prepared to lock her in her bunk if need be.

Her lips lifted in a silent snarl. That wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was for someone to take her at face value and, if all else failed; hit her over the head to knock her out of the fits.

The jaguar huffed a laugh. The man rumbled something at it, but she didn’t quite catch what was said. She could guess though.

The Riddick was still waiting for his answer, patiently too, all things considered. River took a deep breath, then another before finally speaking. “Cotton and wool. Like a china doll.” His face twisted in confusion and she took another breath to sort out her words. “Girl found the crew. Found her _ge ge_. He plans to do anything. _Anything_ to get his _mei mei_ back. And keep her.” Another breath, and her fingers clenched, nails biting into his arms. “Plans to do anything needful to keep her. Keep her safe and sane. Forgets that she’ll never be entirely sane. Forgets she did fine these past three years, two months and fifteen days. Forgets she talked him into weaning her off the psych drugs, and replacing hormones the brain can’t produce as a substitute.” She stared up at him, at the stars taken down from the sky and set in the face of a killer. Who else’s face should they be set in? Who had paid for them in blood? “Is back to thinking of her as the mostly helpless lunatic he rescued.” She shook her head and looked down, even as he shifted her into a slightly more comfortable position. The jaguar yawned and lay down in front of her.

The man tilted his head to one side and lifted a hand to run through her hair and examine her skull for bumps. She heard it in his mind when he found the needle marks instead, and the scar at the base of her skull. Rage roared through him, even though he’d already known some of what had been done. She cried out as his fingers clenched involuntarily and managed to get the forming goose egg right on the nose. He let go, growling under his breath, and she relaxed slightly. “She does not…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. Speaking meant she couldn’t take it back. Words were like stones. Solid, immovable. Say them and a person was committed. And the girl suddenly had no idea what she truly wanted.

“She doesn’t what?” She could hear it in his voice. He had guessed. His mind was working through the possibilities, and the jaguar was offering suggestions. She shuddered a little bit. Things happened when the man and his animal agreed. Momentous things. She had a sudden vision of herself wrapped in steel and blood instead of wool and cotton and nearly cracked her head open again trying to get out of his grip. He growled and reached for her, but she’d gotten over the chair, under the table, and to her feet on the other side faster than he’d have thought possible. He lunged, the rumble in his chest more animal than man, but she was out the door and down the hall before he’d finished shoving the table to the side. She couldn’t run very well on her torn feet though, and he caught her just outside her bunk, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around to pin her against the wall with his bulk. “She doesn’t _what_ ,” he growled again, and he could feel him hot and hard against her hip and could smell the vanilla rising in the air around her.

                “She doesn’t _know_!” River clenched her eyes shut and turned her head away so she wouldn’t lean forward and up into that snarling mouth. “She doesn’t know what she will do!” Her hand was scrabbling behind her and she shifted her hips to distract him from what she was doing. It was nearly her undoing as well as he groaned and dropped his head to her neck, lips grazing the skin at the edge of her tank top as he pressed his length against her. She gasped and nearly rolled her hips again. The jaguar was far too pleased with itself, and her weapon half was looking on with increasing interest. The girl found what she was looking for and slapped the button for the door. It slid open behind her and she toppled backwards shoulder first as she twisted and pulled out of his grip. She completed the turn, hitting the lock on the interior side and dodging his outstretched hand as he tried to get to her before the door closed on his arm. He was snarling, and she wept as she backed away towards the bed, flinching when he punched the wall outside and roared at her. Still crying, she crawled into her bed, wrapped herself in the blankets, and prayed to be made stone.

 

 

 **Author** **’s Note** : I love you all! Love logging in and seeing the count of followers go up, the favorites count, the view count. Love it! Love that people are seeing this. Now if only more of you would tell me what you thought…. XD

Ok. They’re not mine. Firefly/Serenity is © Whedon. Riddick and his homelands are © Universal, Tuohy, the Wheat Brothers, Vin, take your pick. Their toys, I’m just borrowing them. Cause they’re so much fun!

 

Getting into some of the really fun stuff now, at least for me. River and Riddick, stuck along on a ship for who knows how long. Nothing could go wrong right? Right? Hah! I’m going to be using the jaguar/man mix a lot from now on. It’s going to be important, as is the mental picture River builds of their surroundings in her head. And I plan to keep the UST coming for a while. Lots more fun that way. Hmm…Had a lot that I wanted to say as I edited this. It’s all gone now. Gah! So, onward!

 

Translations:

 _Ge ge_ : Big brother

 _hwoon dah_ : Bastard

 _Gwon nee ju jee du shui_ : Mind your own business

 _Wuoshang mayer, maysheen, byen shr_ : I will close my ears and my heart and I will be a stone

 _mei mei_ : sister

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. Fiery death!

 


	8. Chapter 8

Ch. 8

 

 

_If I traded it all_

_If I gave it all away for one thing_

_Just for one thing_

_If I sorted it out_

_If I knew all about this one thing_

_Wouldn’t that be something_

“One Thing”, Finger Eleven

 

 

Riddick’s first thought was to beat down the door. Never mind the fact that it was impossible. It could be done. He would do it. How dare that little witch play with him like that? Did she know who she was fucking with? His animal laughed and told him yes, she knew _exactly_. It only served to enrage him further. How the hell did she do it? How had she crawled inside his skin so thoroughly? The man snarled and slammed his fist into the door again. She may have to come out via the air ducts. He had a suspicion that he’d pulverized the pad that opened the door beyond all repair. Good. Let her realize that there were consequences to playing with him. _He_ was the one who played mind games. _He_ was the one who got to sit back and laugh as people tried to sort themselves out and escape.

His animal took offense to that, and shoved several images of the girl huddled in her bed and crying deep into his mind. Along with that he got the scent of her fear earlier, and the look on her face just before she’d toppled over backwards and nearly cracked her skull open. Whatever had happened, the girl was only acting half sane. What had she been doing with her hands anyways?

Growling to himself about crazy little girls, vanilla, and his life in general, Riddick stalked into his bunk, pried the grate out of the ceiling, and climbed up into the air ducts. It was a tight fit, but he’d manage. Nothing looked like it was going to narrow out between his bunk and hers, and the fans weren’t anywhere close. He got a good whiff of the ship smells as he went. Dust, metal, lingering bits of old blood that had been missed when the Necros cleaned up. And apples and rain. She was getting into every nook and cranny of this place, and it only got stronger the closer he got to her bunk. But when he shifted the grate aside and dropped down, his senses were assaulted by wet earth, the salt of tears, and lemons. Her heartbeat was fast, her breathing erratic, and she shook like a hype coming off a high under the blankets she’d piled over and around her. She was staring at the wall, and he was starting to smell blood in the air. The angry words he’d been about to yell died in his throat and he found himself standing over her bed, glaring down, without a single reason as to why he should leave. Or be there. He wasn’t sure which at this point. All he knew was that he couldn’t bring himself to shout at a girl so lost in pain that she was biting her hand bloody.

The room was dim enough, so he pushed up his goggles and pinched the bridge of his nose, searching his mind for the animal inside. He found it deeper down than usual, curled up with its back to him, and was that a person inside the circle of its body? The animal lifted its head and turned to look at him, eyes flashing green and teeth bared before going back to ignoring him. It should have infuriated him. It didn’t.

First there was the girl, playing an imaginary instrument and ignoring him after she’d vanished from her room. Then the fit and the subsequent crying and confusion of her sudden realization that her place in the world was not what she thought it was. He knew that look. He’d seen it in the mirror years ago. Just once, but he’d seen it. It was the loss of everything known, no matter how horrible the known was, and the feeling of being cast adrift. He’d sworn he’d never let himself be tied to anything again; and until T-2 he’d done a pretty good job at separating himself from the entirety of civilization and all that it implied. Damn Caroline. Damn Imam and damn Jack most of all for dragging him back. For making him care and worry and come back for them. And somehow, through some twisted fucked up maze of decisions that probably had Aereon laughing her Elemental ass off somewhere, he’d ended up here. In the bunk of a sobbing young woman on a ship where he couldn’t even read half the writing, trying to figure out the gentlest way to get her to stop chewing on her hand.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, face in his hands, he laughed at himself for having been so thoroughly whipped. Where was the Riddick that made men piss themselves? Where was the man who’d left three people in a cave while he hauled the power cells towards the skiff and freedom? Fuck it all, where was the man who’d stared down a hellhound? Not gone maybe, but softened for sure. All because he’d decided to rejoin the human race.

Fuck.

The girl was still crying, locked inside her mind and oblivious to his presence. Blood, tears and wet earth made a bad combination on her. But when he moved to try to pry her hand from her teeth, she merely moaned softly and curled up tighter. He wasn’t going to get her to loosen up with anything short of brute force and that was a line he wasn’t willing to cross at this point. Sighing, he leaned back against the wall and let his hand rest on her knee as he waited it out. She didn’t seem to notice him, and for once he was grateful to be ignored. He hadn’t been alone with his thoughts since he’d met her, and it was beyond exhausting, trying to keep a rein on them in case he accidently stumbled over something that sent her into a killing mood. Not that he minded that so much; she was a sight to see, especially when she flew at something with death in her eyes and blades in her hands. Almost made him wish for another pack of Reavers so he could watch her work again. Or for her feet to heal so she could dance again.

That had been a thing of beauty, that first night. He doubted she knew that she’d been more fighting shadows than dancing towards the end, but then again with her there wasn’t much difference between the two except intent to kill. And she had that in spades when it was called for. Beautiful was what it was. Was what _she_ was. Fucking beautiful. She had looked better to him covered in the gore of the Reavers that he’d ever imagined possible, and wasn’t that an idea for prison psychiatrists to figure out? Not that they’d been able to. Teasing the animal away from the man left them both half a being and the only person he’d ever met who seemed to be able to comprehend either of them was currently crying herself to sleep next to him.

Absently, he rubbed his thumb in small circles over her knee. His animal huffed in amusement, but didn’t leave its place, still curled around that shadowy form. He had an inkling of who it was, but he didn’t want to think on that too hard. He’d done too much thinking as it was lately.

 

~HHYFN~

 

He came aware of his surroundings sometime later; half formed thoughts of dragging the girl with him instead of letting her drop him somewhere and return to her crew faded to the back of his mind as his animal made him aware of a change in the air. He stilled his breathing and listened. She’d stopped crying. Her breath was deep and even, her scent back to apples and rain and wet earth. A hint of dried blood told him she’d stopped biting her hand and it had started to scab, and he resisted the urge to check. Who knew what she’d do if he woke her? Trying to kill him was a distinct possibility, and he just wasn’t in the mood for that. Nor was he in the mood for her to fling herself at him and then cringe away as if she’d just stepped in a pile of shit. _That_ particular shift in scents last night had not helped his control any, and if she pulled a stunt like that on him again…well he didn’t know what he’d do, but he’d figure something appropriate. Like drag her all over this new set of star systems and never let her out of his sight again.

His animal growled and he lifted a lip in return. Now what had it pissed? It wanted her even more than him, and if she was having second thoughts about returning to her crew- Abruptly he was assaulted with a wall of images. Him in chains, him in a cage as Johns laughed, Toombs’ smug face when he’d caught up on Helion Prime. A string of slams, each their own special brand of hell. A bit in his mouth and cloth wrapped around his eyes. And then they hit him again, this time with the girl in the starring role. It looked wrong. It looked perverse. He wanted to reach in and tear her out, even though he knew it wasn’t real. New images came. The girl tied to a chair, screaming as needles were driven into her head. Muttering in Chinese as she tried to press herself into the corner of a bare white room. Pacing a dimly lit room while a man asked her questions and probed for answers.

It took a moment to recover from, and even as he asked his animal where the _Hell_ it had gotten all that from, he was coming to the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to _force_ her to come with him. In the same way he wouldn’t take her body by force, he couldn’t take her affection and loyalty either. It grated, to know that somewhere out there was a crew, a _family_ that wanted her back and that she missed. It pissed him off to no end to know that he had a chance of losing death’s dancer to a group of people who could never fully appreciate her. If they had, would she have gone off in a fit and started crying? Obviously she missed them, missed them so bad that the thought of never going back to them drove her to the brink of insanity. But if she was expecting to go back to a boat full of cages and chains, even metaphorical ones, wouldn’t she be better off with him?

The girl in question muttered and turned over in her sleep, nearly kicking him in the ribs as she moved. He froze and waited for her to stop. Scorpions and darkened coring rooms. A hard enough kick in the right spot and he’d find himself with a punctured lung. Or something. He had no doubt she could do it, and self-preservation had always been high on his list of priorities.

His animal kneaded his mind with its claws and gaped out a grin as the epiphany hit. Riddick cursed. Long, fluently, and in more than one language. No fucking wonder. No wonder she wouldn’t let him touch her. No wonder she smelled of want and need at the same time she threatened bodily harm if he tried anything. Cages and chains. Bits in the teeth and needles in the brain. Now he was even thinking like her. Dammit all anyways. All her talk of ties and refusing to chain him had been plain as day if he’d only been listening instead of thinking with his dick and his ego. Her insistence at teaching him everything she could about the ship and its workings, her continual talk of dropping his ass on some populated planet once they were done burying Kyra.

It was the worst blow of the night, and he fought it like he’d fought for his life in the stinking mines of Sigma 3, and later in the slams. He really was better off alone, and the girl knew it. She was trying to give him a fucking chance to take his freedom, fully and completely, in a place where no one was hunting him yet. And all he found himself wanting was to sit next to her and listen to her breathe. To know her heartbeat was close at hand and that she’d try to kill him the next time he said the wrong thing. He’d found his match and all she was trying to do was shove him away.

Fuck her anyways.

He looked around the room, trying to distract himself from too much introspection and the warm feet that had found their way into his lap. His eyes lit on a sheaf of papers on the shelf next to his shoulder, and he lifted them down to rifle through. Was this what she’d been doing when she stayed locked in here? Apparently. It was a pile of sketches, done in some sort of graphite, although he hadn’t realized pens and pencils were much in use in this part of space. It had seemed to be all screens and computers, and even stranger was where she’d found the materials on board what was obviously a ship full of paid fighters. Yet another mystery of River, he guessed, and began to flip through.

It was mainly portraits. A man with light hair and a boldly patterned shirt over what he guessed was a flight suit, dangling a little girl with slightly darker skin from his knee. A man with dark hair and beard, a squared jaw, and hard eyes. There was a gun laid out in pieces on a surface in front of him, but she hadn’t fleshed the surrounding out much more than that, instead focusing on the person himself. On the next page was a woman, dark skinned with full lips and wiry hair. There was something about her face that told Riddick that pulling the wool over this one’s eyes would require every bit of cunning he’d ever been able to manage, and he wondered a bit at how River’d managed to capture personalities as solidly as she did physical appearance. Next came a man, narrow nose, suspenders over a buttoned up shirt, and gun on his hip like it never left. He was arguing, or something, with a woman so at odds with his appearance that Riddick had to tilt his head to the side and squint to believe they could ever stand next to each other. Huge eyes, masses of dark hair, and fine clothing wrapped around a body meant to do one thing and one thing only, she was shaking a finger in the man’s face and grinning as she did so. Now there would be an interesting pair to meet.

He flipped past a younger man with carefully trimmed dark hair and intent eyes next to a woman with a smile and smudges on her face to the back of the stack. There were repeats, the same faces with different expressions. Some of them set in rooms drawn entire, some just a set of eyes and a mouth in a less than defined blur. And then he hit a face he knew. Square jaw, light hair down to the jaw. Sleeveless shirt of some color between light and dark. She was screaming into a cave, and in the cave he saw eyes. Glowing eyes, slitted like a cat’s. Stunned, he dropped the picture of Caroline and reached for the next, hoping it would be another of her crew. What he got was a huge jungle cat, dark coat with darker spots, holding Kyra down with one huge paw as she clawed and scrambled after a blurry figure in the middle distance. There was no indication of blood, and the cat’s claws were sheathed. What the fuck?

Growling low in his chest, he flipped through the rest. Here was a Spitfire. Here the girl whose name he would never speak, the first one he’d killed for. There was a biorapter and Jack screaming under a rib bone as it tried to bash its way through to her. Imam and his wife, the face of their child aged by several years. Shirah, hand extended and glowing. He snarled and dropped the papers, only then noticing that the feet had left his lap.

“He snoops,” Her voice was quiet, rough from sleep and crying itself out. Red rimmed eyes glared at him from behind a tangle of hair and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face and hands in it. Bury himself in her. And he knew she’d fight him. She was tensing even as he thought, hands fisting and jaw set. And he knew that the only way to get her to take him was to tie himself irrevocably to her and that, even as he thought again of bringing her with him, was something he couldn’t bring himself to do. Too many died around him, both the deserving and the undeserving.

He covered the thought as quickly as he could, taking refuge in his anger. “Took a cheap shot last night. Thought you wanted nothing to do with me.” It was a bad cover, and she wasn’t fooled.

Her chin lifted and her eyes lit. “He was being rude; prying at thoughts he had no right to.”

“And you don’t?”

“She tries to leave the animal its secrets. Blocks much. If the _shiong mung duh kwong run_ would learn to think _quieter_ , maybe she would not have to resort to pencils and paper to get it out of her head.”

Riddick snorted and picked up the sheaf of papers. “Good work here. Don’t know about the subject matter though. Looks like artistic liberty to me.”

And just like that the fight went out of her. She rasped out a chuckle, hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. He waited, one eyebrow raised, and when she finally resurfaced she was grinning from ear to ear. It was a nice change from the previous night. “What,” he growled, when she didn’t stop smiling.

“He knows the phrase. Would not expect a man educated in the penal system to know anything about art. Or artistic liberty.” She doubled over, laughing outright now, and Riddick growled and drew himself up straight.

“Been called an artist before,” he rumbled. “Taken plenty of artistic liberties.”

She wouldn’t stop snickering and he had to fight down the urge to grab her and shake. Was this another fit?

She waved a limp hand at him and took a couple of big gulps of air. “Not a fit. Not that kind of fit. It’s just…” she lost it again for a moment before regaining control. “He almost got turned _into_ art. The irony!” And there she went again. Riddick sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. She had a point. At least Chillingsworth had been stupid enough to want a show before she stuck him up on a pedestal to spend eternity on a single blink. Now that had been one crazy bitch.

River had sobered while his mind wandered, and dug herself out of the nest of blankets to crawl over to his side. Carefully, reverently, she picked up the sheaf of paper and straightened it. “Her family calls to her,” she murmured, and he breathed in apples and rain over wet earth to distract himself from those words. “Captain.” She pulled out the picture of the man with suspenders. “And his wife. Companion. Counselor, seeker of new bodies. Brother,” and there was the pretty boy with dark hair. “And _his_ wife.” The woman with the smudged and happy face. She was arranging them around him in a semicircle and he told himself not to touch her as she reached past him. Vanilla bloomed in her scent, but she ignored him otherwise. “Stone woman with a heart that aches for her Wash,” and she set the dark skinned woman down next to the man in the flight suit. “Lost him to Reavers you know,” and her eyes were serious as she met his gaze. “Nearly lost herself too.”

Two more pictures, one that he’d missed of an older man with dark skin and salt and pepper hair, and the man with the guns. “Lost the Shepherd to the Alliance,” she sighed as she traced the face of the older man. “Grandfather kept her secrets and she shall endeavor to keep his to the grave in return. Lived on grief’s doorstep for months and never worried till a ship came out of the sky bearing sanity and a purpose of _no ground to go to_. Knew the ship. Knew the weakness. Brought it down with one shot.”

She pulled out the picture of the Captain and his woman and set them over the Shepherd. “Told the Captain to believe in the girl. Was the first to see her as she was. Saw her potential.” Something in Riddick twisted at that, and she flinched slightly before dragging the last picture over the others. “Man with a girl’s name. Only ever saw her as crazy. Moonbrain. Tried to sell her back once.” She grinned up at him when his animal rumbled a protest at that thought. “In fairness, she’d just cut him open with a butcher’s knife. He was wearing _their_ emblem. Looks better in red anyways.”

Riddick didn’t know whether to laugh or snarl at that. She grinned at him again before turning her attention back to the sketch. “Fought for her though. Never tried it again. Came to see her as herself. Never saw her as a child, or in need of coddling and wrapping in cotton in wool.” She shrugged. “Wanted to stick her out an airlock instead. Safer for the crew. Can’t bring Alliance down on them if she’s dead. He had a point. Still a valid one, even though he’ll fight tooth and nail alongside the crew to keep her from the blue hands.” Now there was citrus in the air, overpowering the wet earth and not leaving much of the apples and rain at all.

Riddick growled and she looked at him sharply before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. The scents faded to whispers behind the apples and rain, and his animal subsided again. “What do _you_ want,” he asked carefully. She stiffened, clutching convulsively at the covers around her, and her eyes went wide. The apples in her scent went sour, and the rain vanished completely. He waited as she caught her breath, and listened to her heart stutter.

Finally, when he thought he’d tipped her over the brink entirely, salt water bloomed around her and she crumpled in on herself. “She doesn’t know,” she whispered the broken voice, still rough from all the crying and full of confusion now. “Better if they all stay away. Blue hands. They never stop. Never stop coming. Want her back. Waited after the broadwave. Alliance still unstable. Toppling. The man would be better off without her. The family too.”

Riddick snorted in disgust. “Ain’t a real answer girl.”

She glared up at him. “She has a name, _tah mah de_!”

He leaned over and snarled into her face, silver eyes meeting dark. “So does he!” Sweeping the papers out of the way, he stood and stalked over to the gap in the air vents. He could feel his animal telling him to go back and convince her that _they_ were what she wanted. That they would be all she’d ever need. He shoved it down. He was done being nice. “You ever figure out what the fuck it is you really want, let me know,” he growled as he reached for the ceiling. “Not waiting around forever.”

And that was as much of a concession as he could make, to either the girl or the animal. Get resupplied, get to this Haven place, lay Kyra to rest, and then he was gone. And the rest of the universe could sit and spin for all he cared, including the girl and her family.

“ _Chu ni duh_!” She yelled behind him, and he yanked his feet up just in time to avoid a knife making its home in his ankle.

 

**Author** **’s Note** : Edited it some. Rachet pointed out I was missing words. Oops! I guess my brain was filling in the gaps! Guh!

So…I couldn’t wait any more to update. Whoo! Partly because I have a buttload of chapters written that I want to get out to you guys, but mainly because all the love you guys are giving me makes me want to post faster. Love you guys!

 

So…whatcha think? Riddick doesn’t get to play with all the shiny toys and its driving him bug nuts. I think I love him like this, all frustrated and pissed and not able to do anything about it. His epiphanies are all coming at the stupidest time aren’t they? This story is, more than anything, turning out to be Riddick’s journey as it interlaces with River’s. I’m trying to balance the two, but for a while, plan to see him dominant. Not that I think many of you will mind. He is Riddick after all ;P

Firefly/Serenity © Whedon. Riddick and his home universe are© a whole pile of people whose names I’m getting tired of typing…

Translations:

_shiong mung duh-_ kwong run

_tah mah de-_ Mother fucker

_Chu ni duh_ -Screw you

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. Fiery death!


	9. Chapter 9

Ch. 9

 

_I see you moving and they're getting scared_   
_Their eyes are focusing on something else_   
_You're staring at me and I stare at you_   
_I rage against everything that you do_   
_Get this hell out out of my way_   
_There_ _’s nothing more that you can say so_   
_Get this hell out get this hell out out out of my way_   
_So get this hell out get this hell out out out of my way_

“Swept Away”, Flyleaf

 

The ship came to rest with a thud and a shudder. Riddick looked up from the engine in front of him to the comm speaker in the corner and counted off the seconds in his head. Right on cue, her voice came through. “Docking complete. Engine down to standby mode please.” She was all business, no emotion. Had been for the past two and a half days. She’d still been teaching him, mostly about navigational markers, rules of the space lanes around here, and various bits and pieces she thought he’d need to know in occupied systems. She hadn’t left the bridge except to sleep in the almost two days since he’d delivered his ultimatum. She waited till he slept to go eat, and she didn’t dance or even do her katas in the cargo bay. He tracked her through the ship by the sound of her heart. Her scent had permeated the place, making it harder to tell where she was by nose alone. But nobody could avoid making some noise unless they were dead, and she was most definitely alive, and therefore she couldn’t really ever hide from him. Not here. That fact in and of itself was killing him and he didn’t care if she knew. But she hadn’t given any indications one way or another. Just wandered through her day like a fucking robot. Emotionless. Blank. He wanted to shake her till she snapped and tried to kill him. At least it would be something.

A pounding on the outside of the hull snapped him out of his thoughts and he stomped out of the engine room to open the inner and outer bay doors. A wash of foul air entered the ship, reeking of spices, sweat, gun metal, and a multitude of other things he couldn’t begin to describe. Standing in the gangway was a tubby man in a gray uniform, clipboard in hand and portable cortex in the other. He looked a bit taken aback at the sight of Riddick, and the ex-convict in question caught a breath of fear come off him. Strange how it didn’t smell bad until it was coming off the girl. Speaking of which… he decided to give something a try, and roared at her in his head, thinking of her dark hair and pale skin and the need for her to get back to thebay _now_ so he wouldn’t kill anything. His animal snorted, and he noticed that it didn’t sound at all like it usually did. What the-?

And then she was there, pushing her hair back over her shoulder as she stalked out of the corridor and into the hold. He blinked slightly and squinted to look closer. No. His eyes hadn’t been fooling him. She’d dug up a dress somewhere. Or made it. He couldn’t tell. But it made her look like a waif, lost and helpless. She’d done something to her face too; the merc woman must have had a stash of makeup, because her eyes looked bigger, her lips shinier. He yanked his brain away from that line of thought and back to the current events. She was speaking to the fat man, voice earnest; everything in her posture saying she was going to be a good little girl, get resupplied and not make trouble. But her scent was still flat and he couldn’t read a thing off it. What was she planning?

“Thank you Miss Reynolds, everything looks to be in order. Enjoy your stay.” The fat man was giving her a little bow, she handed over a small sack of what Riddick guessed was coinage, and then they were left standing on the ramp alone.

He gave her a look. “Reynolds?”

The girl didn’t answer. She had her head tilted to one side and was staring out into the throng of people just past the loading bay. “Hey,” he took her carefully by the shoulder and turned her so he could see her face. Her eyes didn’t track with the turn, trying instead to stay off in the distance. But finally they met his, and something crawled down his spine in response. He hadn’t seen a look like that since Kyra had given him the “Welcome to the Necromongers” speech and wandered off into a crowd of death obsessed freaks. It made him want to hurt something. “Girl, you in there,” he growled instead, shaking her lightly by the shoulder.

She blinked and her eyes refocused. “She has been attempting to choose her path. The option may be taken from her.” He didn’t think it was possible, but the statement was even creepier than the stare and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. She twitched, and he caught just a hint of lemons with the movement. “Hunters. Hands of blue and hearts gone missing acting in proxy. Don’t tip the hand. Don’t show a tell.” She giggled, a high pitched sound like glass screeching. “Don’t remember that everything they are is a tell. Look for the _Hound_ and its crew. Only so much she could do to the ownership records. It will be noted that it landed here, and not just by the seekers. Crew was well known as people who got the job done in merc circles. No chance they caught the girl otherwise. Competition will want to know who took their ship.”

Riddick growled and stared back out at the mass of people. Some of them, workers in shipsuits, were coming towards the ship, wheeling hand trollies with fuel canisters on them. A couple others were pulling a blue hose out of a wall. Were they really dock workers? Or plants?

“He will do best away from her. Got mercs on her neck. Will always be mercs on her neck.”

Riddick snarled and turned on her, hand going for the shiv he’d tucked into his belt. She stared up at him, jaw set and eyes narrowed. He could see her muscles tightening; feel her heart rate rise in anticipation. He fought his down back into his chest, and held his breath to keep from shouting. What was going on was bad enough, no need to mark themselves as any more different.

As if that was the mental cue she was waiting for, the tension drained out of the girl and she heaved a deep breath. “Need fresh food,” she said as she said as she slapped the external locking pad, turned away and headed off the ship as the bay doors started to shut and he had to make the choice to follow her or get locked inside. “Clothes. Papers for the _hwoon dahn_.” She grinned up at him as he stalked after her and he lifted a lip in return.

 

~HHYFN~

 

                An hour and half later Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, murderer, former Lord Marshall and all around bad ass was ready to throw in the towel. The place reeked. Sweat, metal, fear, anger, drugs, rancid perfume, hot oil and unidentifiable foodstuffs all worked together to drive themselves into his nose and up into his brain. It was enough to stun an ox, and he’d lost the girl’s scent in the mix less than twenty feet into the press of people around them. His ears were buzzing from the constant noise, and it was ticking him off that he was having trouble keeping track of her heartbeat when she wasn’t even a foot away. Civilization.

He fucking hated it.

                She was fading too. Gone was the confident step, the readiness to snarl at him. Her eyes were flickering, her skin had taken on a chalky look, even through the goggles, and she was starting to limp. He knew she knew he was watching her carefully, picking out the weaknesses and openings, but it was actually more of a help than a hindrance at this point. He tried to push the thought at her that they needed to stop, get out of the crowd and rest. He followed it up with a threat of mass bloodshed, just to see if it would get a reaction. She dredged up a scowl for him from somewhere and reached around behind her to wrap a hand around what he thought was a shiv. Instead she pulled a child, no bigger than ten and scrawnier even than Jack had been, around in front of her. Her other arm had a bag of apples and another of oranges hanging off of it, so Riddick took his cue and pulled one of the smaller shivs from his belt and held it to the kid’s neck. He didn’t really want to cut on him, but the threat needed to be seen as serious. For a second he saw Jack in front of him as huge eyes bugged out and then the vision was gone as the boy started to babble. River had him by the shoulder now and her other hand was out, palm up. Shaking and crying, the boy pulled a pouch from his pocket. Riddick recognized that pouch. River had been dipping into it all day to pay for this, that, and the other thing. He growled low in his chest, angry that he hadn’t noticed the boy with any of his senses before he’d slipped up and tried to rob River blind. Maybe he should take a finger or two.

                River shot him her patented “Idiot Neanderthal” look before turning back to the boy. She had hung the pouch off of one finger and still had her hand out. The boy stared, shook, and even over the pong of the place, Riddick could smell his fear. Slowly, the kid drew out another pouch, this one much larger. And much heavier. River grinned, just slightly, and took that pouch as well and stuffed it into the front of the wide leather belt she was wearing. Then, quick as you please, she flipped their first pouch up, caught it, and presented it to the boy. “Food for the family,” she sang, and Riddick wondered if she knew how tired she sounded through the false cheer. She stepped on his foot, gently. “Don’t pick marks that can feel you,” she continued. “And work on the lightfingers. You’re new. You’ll get better.” And with that she dropped the pouch down the front of the boy’s shirt, let go, and gave him a little shove away from Riddick’s blade. The big man stared at her, letting her push him back into the movement of the crowd with a hand at his back, then at the boy. The kid was already gone.

                “The fuck,” he asked, for lack of anything more coherent to say. It didn’t matter. She was getting it all out of his head. They really needed a way for her to talk back. It would make the both of them less obvious. These half conversations in the middle of public places were liable to get them both caught. She shook her head and didn’t answer. He growled and followed her. He got it, he did. Kid was three quarters starved. Hell, he might have left him some money too. But switching out the pouches?

                His train of thought was interrupted as the girl stumbled. Over nothing. He caught her by the shoulders as she started to go down and placed her back on her feet. She winced as she landed and he snarled to himself. Just fucking great. “A place out of the way,” he growled. “Get you off your feet for a bit.”

                It was a measure of her exhaustion and pain that she didn’t argue. Instead she pointed at a door half hidden between two vendors selling what looked like cloth and minor engine parts. On entry, it turned out to be a restaurant of some sort. The attendant at the door didn’t do anything more than wave them in, gesturing at the empty chairs placed in front of the waist high counter that ran around the room. Riddick steered the girl towards a couple in the rear of the room, and she stood there, clinging to the back of the high chair as he pulled the bags of fruit off of her arm and tied them to the chair instead. That’s when he noticed the conveyor belt moving parallel to the counter. Smallish plates piled with various sorts of food trundled past and he snorted. That was one way to avoid needing extra staff. Or not. A tired woman wrapped in a short dingy robe-like uniform came by just as he was edging into his seat, placing a big bowl of rice down between them, along with something he hoped was water. Riddick raised an eyebrow at River once the woman was gone, but the girl was ignoring him. She’d grabbed four of the moving plates and was currently rearranging them in front of her. A scoop of rice onto one of them and a snatch at a container of what appeared to be eating utensils, although they looked like little sticks to him, and she was off. Riddick wondered vaguely what she’d been eating for the past couple days if she was that hungry. He’d finished off the last of the prepackaged meals and his animal was raging at him now, telling him he should have left a couple. His animal was right, but he didn’t have time for an argument like that right now. Food that looked like it may have been food at one point was calling his name.

                Neither spoke for a good twenty minutes. Riddick didn’t want to know how the tally was going to come out, but he figured it would be worth it in the end. And if not, they could always go find another pickpocket to rob. Next to him River giggled, the first real sign of life she’d shown since they’d sat down. “Only useful once. Food will be expensive. Always is on a skyplex. But worth it indeed.” She stacked a few more of her empty plates together and set them to the side. “Needed to trade money for money. Will have to make this pouch last until we can get another. Besides, boy had three sisters and a mother and only enough food at home for the littlest.”

                Riddick snorted. “Don’t care about the family. Why not keep both?”

                “Told you,” she took a gulp of water and made a face. He sympathized. Who knew how many times it had been run through the recyclers on this floating heap. “Ship is being looked for. Crew just came off a good job. Money could be traced back to it.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass and grinned. “This pouch came from captain of slaver ship.”

                “So we need to make it last,” Riddick growled. They had two more pouches full of coin back on the _Hound_ , but those had just gotten written off the resources list.

The girl nodded and sat back. “Good thing we already bought most of supplies. Can keep this for later.”

                Riddick groaned and rubbed at his head with both hands, not sure if he should be grateful or not. On one hand, there was all that money out there now that could be traced back to the ship. They’d gone from booth to shop to vendor, poking at this, examining that. The girl had fingered goods, sniffed fruit, and haggled at the top of her lungs in a mix of Common and Chinese. A couple times he’d nearly thought things would come to blows, and his animal had growled inside. Then she would smile the shopkeeper, hand over some money, and wave in the direction of their dock. That he _could_ be grateful for, the fact that they didn’t have to carry all that stuff back to the ship. He just hoped it wouldn’t get messed with between delivery and their return.

                A cool hand patted his and he turned his head to look at the girl. Her eyes were dancing and she was doing her best to grin around a mouthful of food. He raised an eyebrow. “Really need a way for you to talk back to me.” She looked like a tree rodent with her cheeks stuffed full and it was ridiculous and endearing all at the same time. The thought just made her start twitching, and for a second he wondered if he needed to get out of range of the inevitable spray of food. But she got herself under control and managed to swallow before doubling over in a fit of giggles; a fit which resulted in her leaning her head against his side and he really couldn’t bring himself to complain at the indignity of it all. His animal stretched inside his head and then looked up to meet the man’s eyes as it purred in satisfaction. He had the distinct feeling that it was trying to tell him something, but for once he wasn’t getting a clear idea of what it may be.

                Finally she stopped laughing and sat back up, wiping tears of mirth out of the corners of her eyes. Her makeup was a bit smeared, and now instead of a tree rodent she looked like a raccoon. Riddick buried that though before it could fully surface. They were drawing enough strange looks as it was, what with the differences in appearance. She caught it anyways and dipped a napkin in a glass of water before attempting to wipe some of the mess away. “Needed to look frail,” she said. “Like she used to be.” The napkin wasn’t working. She kept missing the worst of it. Growling, he snatched up another one, grabbed her by the chin with the other hand and went to work. She didn’t fight or argue, and this close to her he could smell the vanilla starting to creep into the air around them. He sat on his animal before it could make its opinion known. “He has been helping her get big scary man discount, works better if she looks like she needs protector.”

                He blinked at her; glad it was hidden behind the goggles, and let the question rise to the surface. She snorted, but smiled. “Do it with crew. Stone woman with a heart cannot pull it off, but others can. Go out with gun hand. He looms and growls and fingers weapons. Get a discount.”

                “Gun hand,” he said, because he couldn’t quite come up with a proper reply to the rest of the statement that wouldn’t blow their cover all to hell.

                She nodded. “Man with a girl’s name. Plays the guitar. Names his weapons. Pretends more affection for them than people.” She pulled her chin out of his hand and he realized he’d just been sitting there, not doing anything with the napkin, for the past couple minutes. At least the gunk was off her face though. She didn’t need it anyways.

                Vanilla bloomed a little brighter and he could see her cheeks change shades. The animal grinned at him. “She has also been trying to communicate. But it is difficult. Has never been able to with any one. The jaguar has been trying to help. Has even managed to pass a few things on. But it is too uncertain and not to be relied upon.”

                Riddick mulled that over for a moment as he stacked his empty plates and shoved them to the side. It made a few things over the last week or so clear, and the behavior of his inner animal even more so. She was right. It was too unpredictable and too vague to be worth anything at this point, which sucked because not having to worry about getting caught for things said out loud was more valuable than a pouch full of untraceable money. Speaking of which. He turned back to the girl, but she was already slipping out of her chair and reaching for the fruit. Growling at her under his breath, he tried to take them from her, but she swatted at his hand with the flat of a blade and gave him a glare. “Big scary man discount won’t work if he can be tamed.”

                His animal perked up at that, but he just forced a chuckle and followed her up to the counter, where she handed over several of their coins, and then out into the mass of people in the corridor. For a moment he almost took her by the shoulder and pulled her back into the restaurant as the stench made itself known to him all over again but she was already moving. Stepping carefully around, through, and sometimes even over people, she was moving with purpose and a goal. Riddick snarled and went after her. The stream ebbed and flowed around him and the waters parted and then he was there. A faint tickle of apples and rain and the last drift of vanilla reached his nose before he made it to her side and set himself to keeping the crush from overwhelming her. She shot him an amused look. “One last place. Then back to ship to load and wait for night cycle.”

                He cocked an eyebrow at her. She grinned outright. “Post. Things that can’t be found or haggled for. And then dim lights, much alcohol and hopefully no fights.”

                He sighed. Richard B. fucking Riddick, couldn’t go through life without a woman leading him by the nose from one trouble spot to the next. Glorified bodyguard was what he was, and he didn’t even get paid for it.

                Next to his elbow the girl snickered. “How the mighty have fallen.”

                He didn’t dignify that with a reply, mental or otherwise.

 

~HHYFN~

 

 

                An hour and a half, six thousand people, one portly postmaster, and the most unnerving behavior he’d seen yet out of the girl, and they made it back to the ship. Riddick hit the exterior lock with a snarl, resisted kicking the crates of food out of his way by force of will alone, and practically dropped the psycho on her ass inside the cargo bay. She scrambled to her feet, wincing, and stuck her tongue out at him. “ _Hwoon dahn_ is so caught up in himself, he cannot see the logic in front of him,” she hissed, and he could see her hand start to reach for the blade she kept tucked into the back of her belt. He growled and caught her wrist. “You crazy little bitch, one minute you’re all kinds of stealthy, next you want to pull a blade and flag every badge in sight?”

                She curled a lip, but stopped trying to get free. Now, away from the throng he could catch her scent. Apples and rain, a bit of charcoal leavened with malt, and blood. A quick visual scan gave him only one of two options and from the fact that it smelled fresh rather than old it must have been her feet. Hidden as they’d been in her boots all day he knew they must have rubbed worse than he’d thought. She didn’t fight him when he picked her up under the arms and sat her on a crate just inside the hold. “Stay put,” he growled, shoving mental images in her direction of what he’d do to her if she walked any further on her damaged feet. She’d been limping steadily ever since they’d left the post, which had led to him half carrying her in the first place. She giggled as he set her down and pulled her feet up to sit cross legged, then giggled again as she caught him staring at the line of her leg revealed by the skirt.

                “Need to get the cargo inside,” she said, closing her eyes and laying her palms on her knees. “Won’t have time later.”

                He stopped and turned to give her a look. She shrugged. “Going to a bar. Never been to one with Captain Daddy and made it out without some sort of fight.” Her eyes opened and she grinned at the rumbling his animal was giving off. “And no, you aren’t Captain Daddy. This may be worse actually. _He_ never actually gets to follow through on shooting the _wang bao dahn_ who try to proposition his daughter.”

                Riddick nearly dropped the crate he was carrying. “What,” he roared, all pretense of staying unnoticed lost in the knee jerk response of both the man and the animal. She nearly fell off her perch, arms wrapped around her sides as she laughed. Damn woman wouldn’t stop fucking with his head. Maybe he should just get off here and save himself the headaches that came from being around her. Fucking mind games.

                She sobered instantly, vanilla, wet earth and that nauseating smell from the other night drowning out the rest of her scents. Her heart was still racing, although she took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. Riddick could have kicked himself. He did aim one at his animal, which spat and swiped at him with an open set of claws. He growled in reply. To distract them all from the turn the conversation had taken, he tried another tack. “Speaking of daughters,” he said, letting his curiosity drown everything else out, “thought your name was Reynolds. What was that back at the post?”

                Whatever it had been, it had set the fine hairs up on end all over his body and nearly had him reaching for a shiv by the end of it. He didn’t know if it had been on purpose or just a special kind of fit she took; but one minute she’d been herself, limping and tired, but as close to stable as he ever saw. The next she was walking into a semi private alcove with a man in a closed booth at the back and her personality had been replaced. Not with the rambling lunatic from the first day or so he’d known her. And not the killing machine either. This girl was happy, bubbly, with a smile too innocent to be real hovering around her lips and a skip in her step that he _knew_ beyond a shadow of a doubt wouldn’t be possible with her feet in the condition they were in. She’d grinned up at him and patted him on the arm before dumping her load of fruit over his arm and headed for the booth. “Morn’n Amnon,” she’d said, and Riddick had felt his blood go cold at the cheer in the voice. “How’s the day goi’n for ya?”

                The man in the booth had perked up, closing whatever he’d been doing on the Cortex screen and standing to move to the door of his little area. “Why Mary Frye, I do declare, ain’t seen you in an age. Where you been hiding yourself girl?” He was out now, and they were both oblivious to the living statue that was Riddick standing just outside the alcove. “Not with _Serenity_ no more?”

                The girl had shrugged before giving the man a quick hug. “Oh you know. Runnin’ errands while the Captain heals up from the latest brush with death. Doc’s keep’n an eye on him. Got gut shot this time. An’ sis is keep’n an eye on them both. Zo’s wand’r’n though. Supplies an’ all.”

                The man had snorted and shook his head. “Leav’n you to pick up the post I see.” He glanced behind her and noticed Riddick for the first time. “Replace Cobb there little ‘un?”

                Riddick had lifted a lip in reply and started shifting his burden so he could get to his blades easier. River had laughed and slapped the man lightly on the chest. “Naw, not hardly. That there’s Rick. Pay’n passenger. Cobb’s off gett’n hisself some trim,” she made a face that said clearly what she thought of _that_ , “and big bad merc couldn’t be bothered to come play mule for a few minutes first. Told Rick I’d shave some offa his fare if he’d help get the big scary man discount.” And she was laughing again, face bright, eyes happy. Riddick wanted to grab her and yank her out of the room to see if it would turn her back into herself. His animal didn’t like the man touching her with such familiarity. The man didn’t like it either. And what the _fuck_ was with the name he’d called her? He didn’t get the chance though, because Amnon was headed back into the booth. “Don’t rightly think you’ll need to put him out there Mary. Only got a couple a’ bitty packages wait’n . Both for you in fact.”

                River had grinned and leaned against the counter. “Oh good. Was afraid they wouldn’t come!” She grimaced and shifted her weight, shrugging one shoulder at the same time. “Tell truth, was afraid it’d be another crate big ‘nough to hold a person. Dunno what we needed alla it for anyways. Cobb’s got hisself a room full ammo. Like to blow the boat to kingdom come one o’ these days.” Riddick had been able to smell malt coming off her by that point, and wondered at how tired she had to be that it was reaching him five feet away and over the stench of the throng outside. He’d growled, an entirely involuntary sound, and her eyes had flicked to him momentarily. She’d given him a slight shake of the head, which the post master didn’t notice. The man had just come back into the booth from a room behind it and was carrying a pair of cardboard boxes with Chinese written all over them. He was blushing too, which Riddick didn’t get but figured he’d find out when they opened the boxes. When had she had the opportunity to order anything anyways? Unless these were from before her capture, in which case he’d had a brief vision of all their remaining money going to pay extended holding fees. The fear was short lived though, and the postmaster simply had River sign a slip of paper before shoving the boxes at her like they might bite. She’d laughed, not her usual laugh either, and scooped them up. “Come on now Amnon, you know a girl needs things out in the Black.”

                “Got daughters,” the man had croaked as Riddick’s mind ran through the possibilities, all of which sent his animal purring in anticipation. He showed it the pit he’d been keeping it in before the girl turned up and the thing subsided. Somewhat. Amnon was still sputtering. “Don’t need ta know girl.”

                River had laughed again, scooped up her boxes, and trotted out of the alcove. Riddick had tried to take them from her, but she’d dodged his reaching hands and set off down the corridor in the direction of the docking bays. Two steps out her trot had turned to a slight limp, her posture had changed, and she gasped just slightly. That had been enough to decide him. Slinging the fruit over his shoulder and snatching the boxes in one hand, he’d wrapped an arm around her ribcage and set himself so he’d take most of the weight off her feet. “C’mon girl,” he’d growled, and started towing her towards their ship and sanctuary from the crowds.

                Now he stood, arms crossed, and stared at her though his goggles. It was hard to convince someone he was glaring as opposed to just trying to be unnerving with the things blocking half his expressions, but he knew he was managing this time. She was glaring right back. They stayed frozen like that for a couple minutes, and he had a flash of how ridiculous it would have looked to an outside observer. Lucky enough, the crowds outside seemed to be dying off a bit, and none of the dock workers were in earshot. Finally she heaved a sigh and returned to her cross legged position. “She has many names. Captain Daddy adopted her when she reached her majority and the biological parents could no longer lay claim over her,” she snorted and rearranged her dress. Riddick refused to let his eyes leave hers. She was trying to mess with his head again. The twitches at the edges of her lips confirmed it. “When _ge ge_ married the Kaylee, he took her name. Less obvious that way. Tam is a name well known among both the criminal and the moneyed. They rejected the children, threw them to the wolves. We no longer claim relationship.” She shrugged, but her scent was of wet earth still, the apples and rain only a remembered whisper. “She takes the name Frye when planetside sometimes, and on the Cortex. Muddy the trail, let them wonder. Apologies,” , she dropped her head and her voice was just a whisper now. “Didn’t think to warn him. The minds and minds around her. All calling, clamoring for attention. Was focused on Amnon, using the right voice and keeping her words straight so he wouldn’t know she’s not what she says.”

                Something settled in him then. His animal yawned and lay its head back down on its paws and the man relaxed just a fraction. It was interesting to see the girl stand down as well, as if her tension had been tied to his. Seemed he wasn’t the only one finding their body tuned to another. Although it didn’t make the act she’d put on any less creepy. He was just turning back to the stack of crates outside the cargo bay when she spoke again in a voice full of exhaustion. “She channels the sister for the act. Nobody can outshine the sun in Kaylee. So cheerful you want to dump her in the hold to get her to shut up.” Riddick shuddered privately. He’d end up doing more than dumping someone in a hold if they acted like that around him. Yet another argument for kicking on and never meeting this crew of hers.

                He pretended he didn’t smell the warm salt smell of fresh tears and wet earth as he finished loading the supplies and she pretended not to hear the rumbling growl of his animal as it fought to free itself of the man.

 

 

Author’s Note. I blame you guys. I had a plan. Weekends and Tuesday/Wednesdayish I would update. But nooooo. I look forward to hearing from you guys so much that I’m stepping up the schedule. Here’s hoping I can keep my lead on chapters going, at least until I finish. This sucker is going to be a monster, and I’ve hit 123k words and the finish line is only a small gleam in the distance. But I’m having way too much fun with other people’s characters (No! They’re NOT MINE!) to stop now. And I’m loving seeing the comments, favs and follows stack up too much as well. XD

A couple things. Keep in mind that River is several years post-BDM at this point. She’s not a teenager anymore. Not only has she managed to make herself mostly functional, barring stress and the occasional overwhelming mass murder who likes to follow her around, but she’s also established her role in the crew. This means, to me at least, that she’s going to know a few tricks and a few people, and better yet, she knows how to exploit them. Riddick on the other hand, knows how his home planets work backwards and forwards, and while there will be a lot of things that are no brainers for him, I think it’s the Chinese culture and its influence that’s going to be his main stumbling block. It’s just so ingrained in everything.

Onward!

_hwoon dahn-_ son of a bitch (sorry. I’m finding conflicting translations for this)

_wang bao dahn-_ dirty bastard

_ge ge-_ brother

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. Fiery death!

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Ch. 10

 

_Her eyes_

_She's on the dark side_

_Neutralize_

_Every man in sight_

“Angel” Massive Attack

                                                           

                Time was both concrete and fluid. There was a solidity to it. Couldn’t stop it from passing, but the perception of it could be bent. Even broken. It was a fact he knew well. Weeks, months even, with his body in artificial lockdown. A prison for his mind, which ran and calculated and generally worked itself into knots and out. They never could figure out why he didn’t mind the Slam so much. At least he could move around there. It wasn’t a secret he was about to let anyone in on.

He’d gone absolutely crazy a few times; he knew there was nothing else to call it. Nobody could stay locked up like that and not go fucking batshit at least once. The more important thing was that he’d come out of the state of animal rage, ready to kill and maim and visit every imaginable torture on the next beating heart to cross his path, and he could control it if need be. He still heard the whispers, even out of cryo, still knew the best spots to kill a person in this or that situation. The sweet spot he favored wasn’t necessarily the quietest kill. Nor was it the fastest. But it was the one he loved best. It was the one that best satisfied his animal’s need for a bloody kill, to smell the rising scent of blood and feel its heat as it pumped its way out of the body in time to a frantic heartbeat. And it was that knowledge that he could and would eventually pull out of that state and back into time as it flowed for the rest of the universe that was keeping him on an even keel at the moment. Because if he didn’t know better, he’d think that this crazy little witch in front of him had just signed her death warrant.

                She stood in front of him, arms crossed and glaring. He scowled back, but most of his attention was on the wrench she’d fucking _thrown_ at his head when he answered her call to come down to the engine room. It was her turn now, he decided. She’d just locked herself in a darkened coring room with a monster and the monster was hungry. It was a measure of his rage that the animal didn’t even prick its ears at the double meaning of the words. They were both too furious for it. Slowly, carefully, he looked back to the girl and in a voice he was proud to call fairly even asked, “What. The. Fuck?”

                She hunched her shoulders and put her head down, eyes blazing as she stared up through her lashes. “Mass. She lacks it. He doesn’t. Can’t get the bolt to tighten.”

                If she’d told him anything. Anything but that. She needed him to fucking tighten down a bolt and felt like to throw a fucking _wrench_ at his head to get his attention? Snarling. Roaring. Animal noises without words. Pure rage drove him as he picked her up and slammed her up against the hull. She bit her lip on a cry, but he could still hear it between her clenched teeth. It tore through him to the animal and he was both pleased and disgusted that he’d made her hurt. Shoving the feeling aside, he pinned her in place with an arm across her throat and waved the wrench under her nose. It was incredibly tempting to bury it in that pretty little head right then. “What,” he growled, and it came out so hoarse it almost wasn’t a word. He tried again. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. _Asking?”_

                She opened her mouth and nothing came out but a croak. Her heart was racing and her lungs labored. Apples and rain and just a bit of freshly sharpened steel mixed with charcoal rolled off her like the tide. No fear though. He let up the pressure, just a bit, and she managed to drag a breath in. “Tried,” she whispered. “Tried. Jaguar. Didn’t work.”

                In his head, the jaguar stilled and flicked an ear. The man eyed it, but didn’t get any more clues. It didn’t make him any less angry either. He leaned down so he could meet her gaze through his goggles. She’d turned up the lights in the engine room so she could see; which he couldn’t blame her for. Sure as fuck didn’t explain what she was doing down here the first place when he’d thought she’d show some sense for once and go find a place to be that didn’t require standing on her freshly bandaged feet. A task she’d taken care of herself while he was tying down the last of the supplies. Dodging him was what she was doing.

                Well she couldn’t dodge him now.

                “Again,” he growled. “Just ask.” She stiffened, and her scent went a million kinds of crazy as emotions flitted across her face. He couldn’t catch what half of them even were, much less what they meant. Finally she sighed and tipped her head back as far as she could manage as apples and rain and charcoal surrounded him like a blanket. “Meant to. Meant to be sane. Something off. Watchers. Sasquatch comes. Doesn’t want to go with him either. Cannot pick the specific from the general if the minds are unknown.” Now she looked at him and there was something in her eyes. A rage he hadn’t seen yet, and a sadness too. “He should make his choice soon. Her’s could be taken from her.”

                The animal, a bit calmer than the man at the moment, put the pieces into some semblance of order and shoved the whole in his direction. Riddick could feel his skin twitch; a full body maneuver that cut off the girl’s air for a moment before he got himself back under control again. “Then why haven’t we taken off yet? Got supplies. Got fuel, water, oxygen. Why stick around?” He was going to leave the Sasquatch part out of the confusion for now. She obviously knew what it meant, no need to poke. At least not yet.

                Her lips twitched in the briefest of smiles before her face went blank again. “Need the papers. He can’t travel the ‘Verse if he doesn’t exist. Not allowed, not existing. Only Operatives, special dispensation. But the _ching wah tsao duh liou_ _mahng_ needs a name, at least so they can put it on the wanted bulletins.”

                The lack of fear in the air wasn’t making this any fun at all, and the fact that she wasn’t fighting back didn’t make it any better. His animal grumbled in disgust and he agreed. A sigh rumbled its way past his lips and he stepped back, leaving the girl to catch her balance, or not. She did, teetering slightly onto her heels, which were the less damaged portions of her feet, before leaning against the hull and looking up into his goggles. They stared at each other for a moment, and for a second he could have sworn he felt her moving in his head. It wasn’t painful, and he didn’t bother to try and think of anything else. Let her see what she’d almost brought on herself. Let her know how close he’d come to ending her right there.

                The girl just snorted, pushed herself to her feet again, and reached for the lights. Only when she’d turned them down to the dimmest possible setting without turning them off did she look back at him. He was still angry, and he knew it. She couldn’t appease him by giving him darkness. But he didn’t fight or pull away when she reached up and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. He could smell her, like a picture of regret and sadness painted onto his brain and he inhaled deeply, just now realizing he might have robbed himself of that smell forever. His animal snarled and hunkered down, one part unwilling to let its rage be taken, the other wanting to reach for her and just live inside her skin so they’d never lose that smell again. Hell, he didn’t even want to be next to her in the crowd again, for fear of not being able to tell where she was by breath and heart beat and smell. How was that for fucked up?

                “Many apologies,” she whispered, and he had to fight not to close his eyes as her breath ghosted over his face. Something in her eyes changed, but she continued as if she hadn’t noticed his reaction. “Meant to ask. Please. Will he tighten the bolts for her?”

                He couldn’t help it. He leaned forward till his forehead touched hers. He felt his nose bump against her’s and knew that if he tilted his head just so- She shuddered and he could feel the heat start to come off her. To distract himself and her he growled. “Only if you tell me why the hell you think it’s so important.”

                She leaned back and tilted her head to one side, then shrugged. “Said already. Watchers. May need to leave quickly. Priming engine for takeoff. Run ignition from bridge, no need for second hands.”

                Riddick growled, but moved over towards the engine. A slim hand over his shoulder pointed out what needed tightening. “You make your choice then girl,” he grunted the question as he threw his weight against the wrench.

She stilled behind him, and then she was pointing out another bolt. “Choice may be made,” was all she’d say. And for some reason, that pissed him off almost as much as getting a wrench thrown at his head had. She twitched where she was leaning against his back and then stood. “Be wary,” she murmured. “Hunters come.” And then, try as he might to unravel the riddlespeak or get her to elaborate, she refused to speak any more on the subject.

 

~HHYFN~

 

 

The bar was an extension of the corridors outside. Loud, filled with people and smells that mixed in a way that never should have been possible. Riddick had the sudden urge to stuff something up his nose. Anything to not have to be aware of the stench. Next to him the girl giggled, and he glared down at her. “Glad you think it’s funny.”

She gave him the how-much-of-an-idiot-can-you-be look before turning her attention back to the crowd they were attempting to move through. “He smells. She hears. If she could turn off the brain she would.”

He snorted and yanked her out of the way of a drunken man who was making retching noises. She stumbled slightly and he braced her before setting her carefully back on her feet. “That’s what alcohol is for.” It was more for something to say and distract himself from her proximity than anything. He had a suspicion that if he took what she was like while strung out on tranqs and cryo drugs and added alcohol, he’d find chaos incarnate. Not that the idea didn’t appeal on some level, but at the moment he just wanted to get this deal she was so insistent on over and done with. No point in being wanted for mass murder if there wasn’t a name to go with the face. Although this habit she had habit of giggling at nothing in particular when she caught his stray thoughts was leaving him with a desire for some good old fashioned mayhem. He’d take violent and crazy over giggling and crazy at this point.

She sighed and leaned into his elbow. “Have to laugh or she’ll break. Have to find the joy or she’ll strike to remove the voices.” The eyes she turned on him were sad, and he could feel the thump of her heart and rhythm of her breath through his skin. “But even the dead scream. She’ll never know silence again.”

Riddick growled and felt his animal growl with him. He took it out on the last few people between them and the bar, using his bulk to force a gap and create space for the girl, for River, to get in front of him and hitch herself up onto a stool. Why she absolutely _needed_ to be there he had no idea, but if getting her there and back out again would get them off this fucking metal beehive any quicker, he wasn’t going to argue. A couple of the men he’d shouldered out of the way turned to snap at him, but stopped when they caught sight of his goggled scowl. He allowed himself a small smile, just an upturn of the corners of his mouth really, and even over the stench of the bar he could smell their fear. A few of others were more interested in the girl, eyeing her up and down in a way that made him want to reach out and take their eyeballs. Preferably with the tip of a shiv.

Not that he blamed them. He’d been throwing covert glances himself, aided by the need to stick close to the girl’s side and the fact that it was impossible to tell where his eyes were really looking unless he turned his head. Tough leather boots encased her feet, rewrapped after all the clambering around the engine room she’d been doing that after noon. She was hiding the limp fairly well, but it was making her clumsy. Along the lines of how normal people walked instead of her usual grace. The boots went over the hems of a pair of pants somewhere in the midrange of the gray scale, although he wasn’t sure what color they really were. The shirt, tunic really, was darker, and the neckline dipped from shoulder to shoulder in a wide swoop, teasing but promising nothing. Just like the girl in fact. That drew a growl, and the last couple of oglers turned to find the source of the noise. He took the half step needed to place himself flush against her back and lifted a lip at them. Whatever he may think of her, he wasn’t going to let her be treated like a piece of meat up for sale. The men backed off and the girl leaned against him, tipping her head up so she could meet his eyes. He glared down at her and tried to ignore the fact that she was giving him an eyeful down the front of her shirt.

She reached up and patted him on the cheek, giving him a small smile in the process. “And he isn’t?” Cryptic quota reached for the moment, she tipped forward and landed on her elbows on the bar. “Hey,” she yelled in an entirely different voice. “You sell anything but _shee niou_ around here? I’m thirsty gorramit!”

Riddick couldn’t help it. He twitched. Something about her lightning fast personality changes set him on edge. Even her scent was changing. He was close enough to tell this time. Why it hadn’t he noticed anything earlier while they were in the post? Or had it been the fact that her exhaustion had overridden everything, even the change? It was a puzzle for another time, and it could only be solved by being near her as she flipped through the personalities. _Not_ an experience he really wanted to go through if he could help it.

The bartender had wandered over by that point, and he must have missed whatever the girl told the man, because next thing he knew there were a couple of shot glasses full of amber liquid being set down in front of them. River flicked him a coin and the man caught it before going back to his empty glasses, wiping them clean and stacking them behind the counter. Riddick frowned. It seemed off, but then he didn’t have a baseline to judge against in this shithole. The feeling was confirmed though when the girl dipped a finger in one of the glasses as she passed the other back to him. He tossed it back, feeling the burn of cheap whiskey all the way down his throat and into his stomach. She was drawing on the counter with the wet finger, and if he squinted he could see what looked like a Chinese character before the swipe of a rag absorbed it. Scowling, he looked up into the too bland face of the barkeep, who blinked once before wandering off down the bar.

“Care to explain,” the big man growled as he leaned over the girl’s shoulder and reached for the other shot glass. She shifted to the side, just slightly, and looked at him over her shoulder. The grin on her face was manic, and there was an edge to her eyes that he didn’t like as she answered. “Just knock’n on the door is all Ricky boy” And with that she hopped off the stool and started squeezing her way back through the crowd. Grumbling, he tossed back the shot, slammed the glass down on the counter, and followed. Crazy bitch. Be good to be back on top and not have to follow her around.

His jaguar laughed at him.

 

                ~HHYFN~

 

                They ended up in a booth, miraculously free of people. He figured it had something to do with the proximity to the emergency exit that clearly wasn’t. Every so often someone slipped out through the door, or came scuttling into the room as it cracked open. She’d acquired a half full bottle of something that smelled like aged urine from somewhere and was toying with a shot glass full of the stuff as she studied the crowd and tapped her foot against the post holding the table up. At least there was a rhythm to the tapping. For his part, he had a shot glass of his own and was rapping out a counterpoint to her foot with one of his shivs.

                It wouldn’t keep him occupied forever though, and he was starting to get truly irritated when a short man with dusky skin and dark almond eyes popped out of the door. “Miss Reynolds,” he exclaimed, sidling around a much larger bruiser that could have pinched his head off like a grape. “How lovely to see you again!”

                For her part, the girl stretched out a hand to allow him to take it in both of his and gave him a sideways grin. “Been awhile Chang. Business still booming?”

                Riddick shifted as something around the man’s eyes tightened, but Chang just grinned and helped “Miss Reynolds” to her feet. “It’s booming all right. Speaking of which, please, follow me.” And now he turned to look at Riddick, although something told the big man that no matter how much he seemed focused on the girl, this guy had been anything but blind to her companion’s presence. Good. So she wasn’t trusting a total idiot then. He didn’t miss the look she shot him as the little rat turned and started making his way to the door. Even better. Looked like she wasn’t trusting him at all.

                She nodded once, slightly, and then they were through. The room they entered was small, draped in rotted silks, wires, hoses and exposed plumbing. The stench, though different than that of the bar or even the corridors of the skyplex, was enough to make his eyes water. Riddick never wanted to see another boiled egg again, much less smell one. The girl next to him snorted, but otherwise ignored him, and left him to cope on his own as she set out in the wake of the strange little man who’d fetched them. After a moment the convict followed, growling under his breath and generally cussing everything that had to do with contained environments in space and inadequate air processors.

                They came to a halt in the back of the room, in front of a round table draped in dingy velvets and covered in bowls of half eaten food, empty liquor bottles, and scrap bits of electronics. A middle aged man with the same dusky skin as Chang and a set of startling light colored eyes perched cross legged on a stool, back to the corner he was set in and studying a sheaf of papers in front of him. Riddick lifted a lip as their guide bowed low and backed off and he set a part of his mind to tracking the man’s heartbeat through the room. There were at least three others hidden behind drapes and one in the rafters. He was crippled by an overpowered nose and the deep thump of a bass coming through the nearest wall, and could only hope there weren’t more hiding where his senses couldn’t pick them out. Must be a different sort of bar on that side. River ignored them all, though he knew she had to know they were there. Instead, she leaned over the table and managed to find a place to set her hands that wasn’t covered in junk. Tilting her head to one side, she let a smile crawl across her face that, if he hadn’t been who he was, Riddick would have found unnerving. As it was his animal purred in appreciation and he found himself leaning a bit himself, the better to watch the show.

                “Mister Saddler,” the girl sang in a low voice. “She’s here.”

                The man lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as they met hers. “Yes, I see that Miss Reynolds. And how are you this evening? Run into any bounty hunters lately?”

                Riddick had to work to keep himself from tensing. Just who was this prick? What did he know? And how much of a threat was he? He tried to shove all those thoughts in River’s direction, but she didn’t give any indication of having heard. Instead, she plunked her ass in a nearby stool and pulled what looked like a computer chip from the wide leather belt she’d wrapped around her waist and held it up for the man to see. “No fun,” she whined in a voice much more like her own instead of the brassy woman she’d been a moment ago. “Wanted to play.”

                The man looked at the chip, and then the girl and snorted. “ _Fei hua_. Know I don’t play with clients girl. But,” and for the first time he looked up to try and meet Riddick’s eyes. “Seeing as you brought fresh meat, guess we’ll have to oblige.”

And with that all hell broke loose. Or tried to.

                Riddick caught the man who’d dropped from the ceiling on the tip of his shiv, feeling it puncture skin, bowels, and knick the vertebrae as the edged metal passed through the man’s side. Yanking his arm free he sheathed the blade and kicked out at the first of the men who’d been hiding in the drapes. He caught him in the kneecap and the guy went down with a cry of pain. Riddick followed him down and a second kick to the throat crushed hyoid, trachea, and everything surrounding. The last two were only slightly smarter; and one tried to distract him as the other brought up a knife the length of his forearm and rushed. He deflected with one of his ulaks, letting his opponent’s blade slide along the smooth edge and away, and then punched him in the sternum with the serrated curve of the other. The man choked and gurgled as he fell, and Riddick was just pissed enough to give his chest a firm stomp before moving on to the last one standing. Short and wiry, the guy didn’t have a chance to backpedal before a cut to the throat opened him up all the way back to the spinal column.

Growling, not caring who heard, Riddick spun to glare at Saddler and check on River. He almost lost it for real then; the girl was still on her stool, holding a blue and white patterned teacup now, and the man was busy pouring steaming liquid into it. Two strides brought him in arms reach and he swatted the cup out of her hands, grabbed her by the shoulders, and yanked her up to eye level. “What the fuck,” he snarled, barely keeping it below a roar. The girl blinked slightly, her eyes glassed, and the smell of nausea filled his nose. Then she blinked again, managed to get a hand up to pat him on the shoulder, and simultaneously kicked him in the hip. Just far enough away from his balls not to drop him, but close enough to tell him that had she been aiming for them he’d find out just how much of a big scary man he _wasn’t_ , all curled up on the floor and holding himself. He had a moment to blink and wonder where that thought had come from before his jaguar rose up and forced his hands open.

The girl dropped, landed in a crouch, and came up hissing. “No choice!” She gave him a shove in the chest. “Did it to her when she came. Twice!” And now she was shaking a finger in his face, or at least the vicinity of, and it was all steel and nausea in the air around her. “Get it done, prove the worth, and get out.” She yanked her hand back when he made a snatch for it. Half of him was aware of Saddler in the corner, watching the goings on with interest, and he knew he shouldn’t be letting her spout her crazy talk like this in front of an unknown quantity, but the other half was equal parts fascinated by her rant and coming up with only one viable solution for shutting her up. And it wasn’t a solution he was willing to take at this moment. His animal growled in protest, shoved several mental images of how following that particular course could play out into the front of his mind, and turned its back on them all.

The girl was still glaring, but the nausea was fading and there was a hint of vanilla in the air. Just fucking perfect. Giving her one last growl for good measure he turned back to the table, grabbed another one of the little teacups, and found a liquor bottle with a bit of liquid in it still. A sniff to make sure it wasn’t antifreeze or some other unnatural thing; and he poured it into his cup, topping it off with the last of the tea in the pot that Saddler had somehow managed to keep from getting broken or spilt. “So,” Riddick growled after he’d tossed the cup back and felt its contents burn down his throat. “I pass. Let’s get what we need girl and move on.”

She sighed behind him as the man in the corner chuckled and reached for the sheaf of papers he’d set aside at some point. Riddick stayed standing while the girl sat again and set the chip she’d been holding in the middle of the table. Giving it a little shove, she glared at Saddler. “Papers now.”

The man in question shook his head, but handed them over. She riffled through them, frowning, and Riddick had the idea that she wasn’t so much studying the papers as she was studying the man who’d given them to her. He waited, arms crossed, and feeling the blood they were coated in already starting to stick. Cherry on his fucking day. Now he’d have to manage to get cleaned off somehow before heading back to the _Hound_.

Finally she seemed satisfied, tapped them together to straighten the edge, and handed them up to Riddick without a glance in his direction. He took them in the one hand not completely covered in blood and studied the top page. His own face looked out at him, goggles in place, and how had she gotten a hold of that? There was a date of birth, occupation listed as public relations, and wouldn’t he have fun getting her to explain that one? And a home planet. Fury.

He nearly dropped the papers. As it was, he raised his head to meet River’s eyes as she stared at him over folded hands. For the first time all day he wished the public spaces of this place were as dim as the interior of their ship. He hadn’t really wanted to see the crowds any better; but the effect of his glare was muffled by the fact that she couldn’t see his eyes nearly popping in rage. For her part, the girl lifted a shoulder, and then reached to take the papers back. He nearly didn’t let her have them, but a mocking “Don’t get blood on them too soon,” was enough to loosen his grip. It wasn’t enough to pacify him. He snarled at her in his mind and had the satisfaction of seeing her flinch slightly.

“Something wrong with them?” Saddler had steepled his fingers together and was watching them both very carefully. Riddick was caught with the sudden urge to gut this mother fucker before he could sell them out. It was a look in his eyes, the same Johns had had. The man was trouble.

The girl on the stool seemed oblivious. Heaving a great sigh, she shook her head and tucked the papers into the belt. “No. Should have changed the home planet in the information given. Didn’t know he hates Fury.” She gave him an indecipherable look and turned back to the man. “Now. If we may have a bowl of water to get the blood off,” she gestured at him and surprisingly enough, herself. He hadn’t noticed she’d gotten hit with some of the spray. His animal snorted. “We will be going. Will tell Captain Daddy you send your greetings.” 

The man in the corner twitched a finger and another door slid open nearby. A woman with dark oily hair that hung in long straggles down her back appeared, carrying a large bowl of steaming water. Riddick raised an eyebrow as River swept half the junk off of the table, took the bowl and the towel that hung off of one of the woman’s arms and set it down. He caught the towel when she tossed it at him, and started rinsing off as he watched Saddler. Something was off about this, and it was about to come to blows.

Sure enough, the forger sat back on his stool and grinned. “Not so fast little girl. There is the matter of payment after all.”

The girl froze. Cool water and steel and that astringent scent he could only identify as sheer insanity worked themselves past the rotten egg stench of the room and wound their way into his brain. Her breath evened, her heart slowed, and he watched as she pulled a blade from her belt and looked at it carefully. She turned it over and over in her hands, running her fingers up and down the length of it as if memorizing its contours. Saddler’s heart picked up just slightly, and Riddick heard him draw in a sharp breath. “Payment has already been given,” she murmured, and the animal in the man sat up to watch the show. “Accounts have been returned. No money taken.”

Saddler snorted and looked back, but Riddick could hear his heart starting to race. “Ain’t talkin’n on the money you stole from me girly. That got you papers. The _Hound_ is a great ship. One of the best. An’ there’s plenty o’ hunters out there love to claim her.”

Riddick growled and reached for his ulaks. Fuck getting clean. What was a little more blood? River beat him to the punch, literally. She was up and over the table, fist wrapped around the hilt of the blade in her hand, before Riddick had done much more than draw his own and start forward. She landed in a crouch in front of the man and the table rocked, then tipped over completely as she pushed off and laid the sweetest punch right across the man’s jaw. His head snapped back and she grabbed a fistful of greasy hair, using it to reverse trajectory and settle herself with her knees across his thighs. She yanked his head back and set the edge of her knife to the man’s neck. “No double cross. Can’t speak if he’s dead. Speak as the living and scream for his life. Whisper around the blood. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble,”

The man was flailing for purchase, one hand trying for the wrist near his neck, the other reaching for the gun strapped to his thigh. Riddick grabbed for the hands, pinning one to either wall as he leaned over the girl’s shoulder. “Better hurry this up girl. Gonna be people heard.” He could feel her snort against his chest and forced his mind back to the creep she was sitting on. Man and animal both had come fully awake at her words, and he was starting to think it wouldn’t be so bad, kicking around the galaxy with a girl that could make murder sound like poetry. He huffed out a laugh as she stiffened, but it was Saddler who reacted. “Hey, listen, I’ve got to make money same as you. Pay offs ain’t cheap-” he gurgled as she snarled and a thin line of blood trickled down to his clavicle. “Ok! Ok! My lips are sealed. We’re even!”

The girl stilled and Riddick waited while she sifted through the other man’s mind. He could feel her like a small sun, radiating heat, bloodlust and insanity through every pore and directly into his. The apples and rain were gone. Vanilla a long lost memory and the steel and astringent scent of her lunacy made such a combination that he was about to label it a drug of some sort. The cool water threaded through it the mix, so faint he almost couldn’t catch it. His nerves were on fire, his veins burning in a precursor to lighting up like a fucking candle, and he was so hard that he _knew_ he’d have blue balls for a fucking week if she didn’t let him pin her up against a wall after this was all over.

She shifted, rubbing a hip against his shaft and he snarled and dropped his head into the base of her neck. “Get it over with girl,” he managed to grit out, and it was only by the barest of margins that he kept himself from leaving her a set of teeth marks to rival the scar he’d gotten on his own shoulder. His animal was kneading his mind with its paws and the man focused on the little pricks of pain to distract himself. In front of him the girl lifted her knife to examine the blood on the edge of the blade, and then turned her head to look Saddler in the eye. “Liar,” she whispered, and jammed the thing tip first into his exposed throat. Blood spurted around the edges of the wound, and then she was scrambling backwards, nearly knocking Riddick over in the process. The steel was still there, her heart was racing, but the insanity was mostly gone, leaving sour apples and the last hint of water in his nasal passages. He caught her as she stumbled over a dish and set her back on her feet before the animal could overrule the man. They needed to be gone. Now.

“Yes,” she hissed, and snatched up the soaked towel from where it had landed in the middle of the mess on the floor. Quickly as she could she wiped off her hands and handed it back to him without looking. She was panting as she stared at the bodies on the floor, and Riddick watched her warily as he ran the towel over his arms. Carefully, as softly as he could manage, he tried to push a question at her through his head. She flinched, but didn’t turn to look at him. He tried again and she hunched in on herself, arms coming up to hug herself. “Thoughts don’t count,” she whispered hoarsely. “Words are immovable.”

He sighed and stepped around her to try and look her in the eye. She refused to raise her head, hiding behind a curtain of hair as she shifted on stiff feet. Slowly, because the insanity still hadn’t dissipated entirely, he lifted her chin with a finger. “You in there girl?”

She twitched and had a fist halfway to his ribcage before she stopped herself, shaking from her head down to her boots. He eyed the fist. No blade, which was good, but the reflex didn’t speak well for them getting through the station to the ship without either getting caught or leaving a long trail of bodies. After a moment she opened her hand, fingers flexed as wide as they would go, and placed her palm over his heart. Cool water rose, and the insanity faded just a bit more. An apple teased at his mind. “He should run,” she croaked in a voice more animal than human. “She only brings pain to those around her.” She tipped her head back and he followed her chin with his finger before running it down the line of her carotid artery and resting his palm at the base of her neck. Vanilla. Mint. “Witch hazel.” She whispered and he tilted his head in question. “Cleans. Cleans the mind of all thought. Drives the blade, guides the sights.” Her head snapped forward and she snarled up into his face as she lurched against his hand. “Cut them down! They come for her, the Sasquatch with good and the hunters with sleeping death.” Her voice was beyond animal, hoarse and screeching along his ears like broken glass.

Riddick growled and applied pressure to her neck and she subsided somewhat. He leaned forward, following the motion of her body with his own and growled into her face. “Let them come.” He didn’t know where the words came from. He knew it wasn’t the man, not fully. It wasn’t the animal either. At the moment though it didn’t matter. He’d said them, couldn’t take them back. It struck him then, why she insisted on spoken words instead of thoughts for the important things. He’d just committed himself. Maybe not forever, but for now, he’d given his word. It was what he had when it all came down to it. He leaned just a little further, ignored the visions of Caroline being torn from his arms, of Kyra impaled on the spike, of Imam’s body in the street below, and let his lips ghost over hers “Don’t matter anyways.” Now he could feel the ridges of her ear and her hair was a cloud around his face. “I’m just as dangerous to you.”

Something in her snapped. He could feel it in the way his animal suddenly relaxed, and every muscle in her body went slack for a moment as she sagged against the hand at her neck. She stumbled forward a half a step before he caught her weight and set her back on her feet. The eyes she turned up to look at his goggles were steady, though wet and her breathing had come back down to normal levels. “By all means,” she whispered and he knew that she still wasn’t all there by the edge in her voice. It would be enough though, at least till they made it out of this fucking rat’s nest. “Let us go.”

 

 

**Author** **’s Note:** Thanks so much to everyone who’s following and faving and commenting! Means o much to me!

Taking liberties here now. Fury in this universe is a terraformed planet, not a gas giant as indicated in the maps of the ‘Verse. It’s the only way this scene would work. The only way I could get Riddick pissed for the right reasons. Other than that…yes, I’m messing up Shakespeare quotes. I don’t understand line, act, etc when people reference it, but she’s using the first lines of the Scottish Play. Sort of. Other than that…I think I’m doomed. Got distracted today by plot bunnies. Which is stupid, because the plot bunnies that attacked me are direct spinoffs of the plot bunnies running this particular hamster wheel. I can’t be thinking of sequels when I need to finish this!

These universes? Not mine. Geez people, if I owned these franchises, you think I’d be writing fanfic? Or making it into actual movies?

_Fei hua_ : Bullshit

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. Fiery death!

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

 

 

Translations:

_ching wah tsao duh liou mahn:_ Frog humping sonofabitch

_shee nio:_ shit urine (?? I found one that says cow sucking too…Gah)


	11. Chapter 11

Ch. 11

 

 

_You tear me down_

_And then you pick me up_

_You take it all_

_And still it_ _’s not enough_

_You try to tell me_

_You can heal me_

_But I_ _’m still bleeding_

 _And you_ _’ll be the death of me_

“Death of Me” Red

 

 

                It had to be a curse. Murphy’s law. Call it what you would, but until this moment, Riddick hadn’t really believed so many things could go to shit in such a short space of time. Fuck, even on T-2 there’d been the discovery of the settlement and the skiff to give relief to the string of bad luck that had plagued him from the moment Johns had finally cornered him and managed to stuff him onto that doomed ship. But here he was, getting proof first hand that God was truly out to get him. He hadn’t been under any delusions. There was no true night and day out in space and the skyplex reflected that. The corridors were only slightly less crowded, most of the vendors having packed up their wares for the night cycle and slipped off to wherever it was that they hid while a new set of businessmen set up shop in darkened corners, little alleyways; and as previously evidenced, the bars and restaurants that stayed open all night to serve them. River had dropped their pouch of coin down the front of her shirt just before they slipped out of the room containing Saddler’s body and he’d gritted his teeth and _not_ looked as she wiggled things around till she had everything situated the way she wanted. There was a slight bump under her belt once she was done, and he figured it was as good a place as any to keep the pouch from getting stolen.

The bigger problem was the blood. Between the surprise attack earlier and her killing the forger, she had it up her sleeve and in spatters across her chest. She’d gotten most of it off her skin though, and it was really the best they could hope for. Himself, he would have to be careful what he brushed up against and hope they could make it back to the docks quickly. The color of his shirt helped, dark enough to hide the evidence, but what with the water bowl that had flown up and drenched him and the attempts to get clean afterwards he was just this side of dripping and hated it. He sent a warning to her with eyes and mind. She tried to take the shower first when they made it out into open space, wasn’t a thing in the universe to save her from slow death. He’d just wash her blood off with the rest. She snorted into her hand and crouched deeper into the shadow of the boarded up booth they were currently hiding behind. It wasn’t an amused snort, and the look she shot him was serious. He growled in return and tipped his head back to catch a look around the corner. He wasn’t even sure why they were bothering to hide like this so close to the docks. The floodlights of the loading bays were burning his eyes all the way through the goggles.

All he knew was that they had been walking, albeit silently and in the darkest part of the corridors they could manage while she explained how her Captain Daddy had introduced her to Saddler the first time she needed new papers for the semi-official adoption by the Captain, and she had been jumped same as Riddick. And then again when she needed her second set of papers under the name Frye. Apparently the forger was not above trying to see exactly who it was who needed such high grade false identities, and hoped to provoke some sort of reaction. All he’d gotten was another set of dead men lying around his little room and a promise that if he ever tried such a stunt with her again, she’d kill him instead. A promise she’d lived up to not half an hour ago. She was amazingly mute though, on what the story with the accounts and the computer chip had been, but he could guess easily enough. For criminals the galaxy over, money was second only to death threats in value of currency, and holding all his accounts hostage would have put a serious crimp in whatever the man had going on besides forging papers.

Riddick had only had a second or so to appreciate her initial strategy, no matter how things had turned out in the long run, before the girl had grabbed him by the elbow and thrown her whole weight into pulling him behind a booth twenty feet from their current position, hissing “Down. Down. They have found the quarry.” That had been ten minutes ago, and try as he might he couldn’t get an explanation out of her. Her attention wasn’t even really on him now. She stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, fingers twitching in unknown patterns on the metal plates beneath her.

Slowly he leaned over and took her chin in his hand, turning her head to face him. Her pupils were blown and her scent indecipherable this close to the rancid grease pooling around the base of the booth they hid behind. He could feel her breath, shallow but even, and her heartbeat under his fingers was a match. He growled slightly, “Getting tired of these fits girl. Mind telling me what’s up?”

                Her fingers stilled and her eyes focused on his. “Hunters. Third level. Laser sights and tranq bullets. Two on the ground. Don’t intend to let her into the gangways. Corner her with no cover in the loading docks. Take the man. Gotta be worth something if he’s trailing her.” Her voice changed from a hoarse whisper to something more like normal and she frowned. “Told you. The girl is trouble.”

                He fought down a laugh and sat back, reaching for his ulaks and bringing them around in front of him. “You been trouble ever since you popped outta that cryo box girl.” She flinched, and his animal growled a warning, but he continued. “All kinds of entertaining though. Been worth it.”

                She sighed and turned back to her survey of the docks and their obvious lack of cover. “Should make his choice. Should run.”

                He snorted and shifted to crouch next to her. “What, take the ship and leave you here for them?”

It had the desired effect. She turned and glared, one hand going for the blade at her hip. “Other way,” she hissed. “Can’t read half the buttons anyways.” And with that she was up, moving out from cover and headed for the next booth. That’s when the shit truly hit the fan.

The man she collided with was huge, a mobile mountain in a tattered coat. There was muscle under the fat that softened the edges, and a lion’s mane of hair just added to the effect of some sort of legendary giant shrunk down to fit in man’s world. Riddick was on his feet and reaching for her before she’d even finished stumbling back and the stranger turned as he caught her shoulder. There was half a second of silence before dark eyes widened behind an impressive mustache beard combination and the man barked a surprised “River?”

In his grasp the girl flinched and cried out. Blood and sour fruit rose in the air and Riddick turned her to see a stain spreading on her shoulder. Her eyes were fluttering and her heart slowing even as her breath raced. “Run,” she croaked, and he felt a _push_ of something inside his head as she went boneless.

He knew that later he’d wonder what had possessed him. There was opportunity, beating him over the head. A ship primed and ready to go, the Sasquatch she’d been going on about obviously knew her in a more than friendly way, and looked to be big enough to make a fair shield for her from any further bullets or tranq darts or whatever the fuck they’d hit her with. She’d been shoving him towards freedom from the minute they’d gotten away from the Necros; and it was his own fucked up self that kept denying the opportunities to cut any ties and get the hell out of the way of whatever trouble it was that had gotten her in that cryo box in the first place.

But his animal was laughing at him as the possibilities flew through his mind, and he had slung her over his shoulder and taken off before he even realized what he was doing. The big man with the beard was yelling and trying to block his way, but they didn’t have time for delays. Two on the ground she’d said. To corner them. But her leap from behind the booth had given the sniper a chance and the fuck had taken it. That left Riddick not knowing where the others were. Nothing to scent for and too much cover for them to be hiding behind. All he could do was hope they weren’t in front because that’s where he was headed, pushing past the stranger and dodging his reaching hands.

The shots behind him didn’t prove anything. The roaring Sasquatch had pulled a gun as he’d bulled past and nothing Riddick had done had shown any evidence to land him on the side of the hunted instead of the hunters. It made perfect sense for the other man to want to bring him down. He dodged again, crouching low and doing his best to keep to the shadows. Zigging and zagging from one patch of cover to another, Riddick finally ran out of options. Landing with a grunt against the one of the pillars marking the end of the “streets” and the beginning of the loading bays, he shifted the girl around to his lap and took stock. He was, in short, fucked.

The sniper may or may not still be in place. It was impossible to figure out what his line of fire was without knowing exactly where he had it perch. Safe to assume he could cover the whole corridor. The bystanders had, for the most part, run at the first audible gunshot. No one wanted to get hurt, and few were out on legitimate business anyways. It left the street mostly deserted, worse and worse for him. The giant of a man who’d been yelling was still shooting his mouth off, waving his gun around, though thankfully it was at someone else now. Lean and dark, he had his hands up and appeared to be trying to talk the Sasquatch down. Riddick spared a mental snort at how he’d picked up on that particular label. It applied, that was for sure. Movement in the corner of his eye made him turn his head just slightly, and he watched as another man, larger than the other unknown but still wiry, stepped out of the shadows on the opposite side of the corridor. He was moving carefully, checking every nook and cranny as he worked his way down the row. Riddick knew he wouldn’t go far if he’d gotten any sort of fix on where the girl had gone down.

Muttering curses in his head, clamping his lips shut on a growl; Riddick edged himself just a bit deeper into the shadows and did an inventory. His ulaks, shiv in his boot, gun on his hip and three more blades in his belt. Goggles he couldn’t take off without blinding himself. An unconscious girl who’d practically _begged_ him to leave her to the hunters and how fucking stupid had he been not to listen? A quick visual scan over her body netted him two more blades in belt sheaths and at least one more strapped to a leather cuff on her wrist. A pouch of coins-his mind froze and a plan started to form.

The merc across the street was reaching the bottom of his search pattern and the shouting from the Sasquatch had turned into threatening growls as he patted down the second merc, who looked like he wished he’d just shot the man instead of talking him down. Riddick felt his lips twitch up. Either the rules were stiffer for mercs here or they just didn’t want to deal with the aftermath that usually came with shooting not-so-random bystanders. The comm unit that the mobile mountain was holding to his lips may have had something to do with it, but if he wasn’t careful the second hunter was either going to drop him or have their sniper do it for them.              

Quickly as he could without making any noise or letting any part of him emerge from shadow, Riddick tore at the laces of the girl’s belt and unwrapped it. A yank and he’d gotten her shirt pulled up enough that he could reach under and grab the bag of coin. Her limbs flopped as he shifted her around to his shoulder again, and he wrapped his free arm around her thighs to pin her in place. One last glance around the pillar to judge the distance between him and the alcove that guarded the _Hound’s_ hatch, another to get a final lock on the enemies, and he hefted the bag. Sirens were starting in the distance and he snorted to himself. Apparently paying off dockworkers and authorities only worked so long as people weren’t shooting. Fine by him. He planned to be gone when they showed up.

The pouch of money made a satisfying noise when he threw it as hard as he could, over the heads of the Sasquatch and the merc and a good ways beyond. As one, their heads jerked in the direction of the clattering coins as they rained and skidded over the floor. The merc on the other side of the corridor brought up his gun and ran for the booth the bag had landed behind. Riddick was already rolling his himself around the pillar, back into the shelter of the other side, and sprinting for their dock. The sniper must have seen him though, because something whistled past his head and at least three different voices starting shouting. There was another gunshot and he ducked instinctively. But either it missed or it wasn’t aimed at him in the first place. The running footsteps though, they told him to get his ass in gear and find cover before someone really was aiming for him.

He made it all the way to their berth and down the short gangway without further incident, not even stopping to catch his breath as he plowed into the hull of the ship with his unburdened shoulder. He pounded on the entry pad with his fist as he set the girl down and propped her against his leg, grumbling to himself all the while. Stupid fucker, he thought to himself as he pulled his gun and leaned up against the wall. The wiry merc was the first one who made it around the corner at the other end of the ramp. Gun up, he eased past the half wall that sheltered the alcove as if he expected Riddick to have moved further on. Did they even know which ship to check? Could he not hear the cargo bay opening?

Apparently not. There was a comm stuck in his ear and Riddick could hear the shrieking curses coming through it from where he was standing. It’d be enough to distract anyone. It was enough to kill the man. Riddick grabbed a shiv from his belt and threw. Wrong handed and weak, it still sent the man down with blood burbling out of the hole in his throat. The hatch exterior and interior hatches had opened enough now, and he lurched for the girl, grabbing her by the shoulder and practically throwing her through the gap just as the second merc came running up. Riddick flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the hull next to his head. His ears rang with the combined noise of the gunshot and metal striking metal and he snarled. A second later the merc dropped, the back of his head and bits of his jaw painting the deck beneath and behind him red. Still growling, Riddick stepped back into the ship, toed the girl’s legs out of the way, and hit the button for the doors from the inside, He was ready for the giant to come and was fully prepared to ghost him too. Guns weren’t as fun as knives but they had a shitload of advantages when it came to range. He could see the man, huffing and bright red as he came around the corner into their dock, but his gun was at his side and he seemed more frustrated than murderous. Riddick grinned at him through the clear panel set into the airlock doors and had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s skin turn several different shades of enraged before the exterior hatch closed and the man was lost from view.

One breath, that’s all he allowed himself before holstering the gun, bending to scoop the girl into his arms, and sprinting for the cockpit. There was no time to stick her in the infirmary; he didn’t want her tossed around the bay if he had to get creative with the flying, or if the controls just plain decided not to obey. He had a bad moment when he realized that he couldn’t prop her in a corner and holding her in his lap wasn’t going to let him reach everything on the console. Growling, he glared at her, but she didn’t respond. He roared at her in his mind. No answer.

Muttering curses on himself, women in general and River in specific, he set her in the pilot’s seat, nudged her knees as far apart as they could go, swatted his animal back towards its hole, and sat down on the edge of the chair. It made it a little awkward to get to some of the levers and toggles he needed, but he managed in the end. One ear on her breathing and the other listening for the sounds of anyone trying to get into the ship before he was fully free of the dock, Riddick’s hands flew over the control panels. He jerked in surprise when the comms hissed and a voice came over the speakers, but it was just port control, confirming his departure. Evidently no one had told them yet about the bodies he’d left outside, and they unlatched the restraints holding the ship against the skyplex without question. He did however, get a burst of Chinese for the speed with which he left. He guessed it was bad manners to hit the gas right out the dock. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared.

It took some doing and a bit of educated guessing but he picked out a course, set the autopilot, and stood so he could get a better look at the girl. She sat there in the chair, rumpled, bleeding from a shallow penetration wound to the shoulder, skin still luminous and hair still dark. He rumbled out a growl as he ran his hands over his head; and some part of his mind that wasn’t really in the present noted that he needed to find a razor or resharpen a shiv and take care of the short fuzz that was starting to make itself known. It both was and wasn’t something he had time for now. What the hell had he just done?

 

~HHYFN~

 

 

River woke in stages. It was quiet around her, no mass of minds with all their thoughts and worries pressing up against hers. Just one, with its own cares and angry mutterings. But it was still a pool of calm water, so deep that it would take great force to stir what lurked at the bottom; and she almost took refuge there. Until her muzzy brain caught up with her instincts and she started picking out individual thoughts. That was enough to send her heart off in an attempt to race and her breath to catch. That in turn led to the owner of the mind noticing that she was waking up and coming over to rest a hand on her head. She supposed it was a valid excuse, last time she’d regained consciousness around him there had been screaming, clawing, and bruises to the cranial region on both ends. With a hand on her head not only could he tell if she were fevered, which she laughed at in her mind until she caught the memory of how he’d dug the shards of the tranq bullet out of her shoulder, but he could effectively keep her from any of the antics she’d performed the first time. At least she wasn’t chained down. She may have had to hurt him for that. And he may have liked it.

As it was she didn’t have to do any screaming. There was only his mind and hers on the ship, and they were too far from any populated place that could have echoed its people’s thoughts to her. She lay still, letting her body catch up with her brain before finally opening her eyes and meeting his. She would have called it _deja vu_ , but she was still lacking a few points of comparison. For one, no heart monitors. He could do that himself. For another, the aforementioned lack of chains. And lastly, he had no interest in intimidating her at the moment. In fact, his thoughts were such a roil of confusion that she was having difficulty pinning anything down from one second to the next, much less any long term plans.

Neither said anything for the moment. She had questions. Many of them. But choosing one from the pile of options and deeming it most important was proving hard with the drugs still in her system. She could feel her mind fraying around the edges and panic started to set in. A fit was not what she needed right now. She needed to be coherent, a real person instead of the mad puppet. But she couldn’t focus, couldn’t set her feet on one path and keep her attention _there_ instead of on the myriad other words and thoughts that teased around the edges. Not for the first time she cursed his nose and overdeveloped ability to scent. And she blessed it. He may be able to smell the confusion and charcoal coming off her, but at least he couldn’t read her mind.

                She wasn’t having any success with keeping herself mentally upright, and knew if she’d been standing she would have fallen over immediately. Frantically she cast about, needing something to anchor herself to. In his mind, the animal sat up and growled. It was mad at her for not seeing the obvious. At him for the tension that had been winding up in his body since her heart had started to race. Panting, she threw out her metaphorical arms and wrapped them around the jaguar, burying her face in its shoulder. It purred, a low rumble that vibrated through her down to the bones, and she whimpered in gratitude.

                Just not mentally.

                She could feel it come off him like a tidal wave as he yanked his hand back. Worry. Anger. Arousal. The emotions slammed into her mind and she cowered in the shelter of the jaguar as it bared its teeth and hissed. The man faltered and growled back, but the tide ebbed and somehow he managed to pull it all back inside, where it couldn’t overwhelm her. She was imminently grateful to both halves of the whole for the relief; and she took the opportunity to try and get her own thoughts sorted, to find the most important of the questions in her pile of options.

                She wasn’t sure if it really was the most important. There were others, such as “Where are we headed,” and “Did you break the ship?” But it all boiled down to one really, and it popped out of her mouth before she was entirely aware that it was going to. “Why,” she whispered, and then coughed. Her throat was dry, and speaking wasn’t advisable.

                He covered his reaction by picking up a glass of water nearby and helping her sit up so she could drink. His hands felt good, huge and warm on her back, gently on her head as he braced it while she lay back down. His long fingers ran through her hair as he drew his hand away and she wanted to tell him to leave them there. But she was too focused on the answer to the question and she tried to deflect the thoughts bubbling beneath his surface with a clarification. “Will be just as wanted as the girl now. Wouldn’t run. They will report. He has killed in her defense.” It was true, she could see the memories, the satisfaction he’d felt at having taken the mercs down. They really had been truly stupid, between taking the shot early, allowing Monty to distract them, and not expecting Riddick to be willing to kill them. She wished she’d gotten a chance to Read them before losing consciousness. The information they’d had on her would be vital to her long term survival. And now his.

                He was rumbling deep in his chest as he tried to come up with an answer for her. She felt the jaguar rise from its protective curl around her and begin to pace in response, its eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring as it focused on its man. She wanted to crawl over and lay her ear to that chest. To stand upright and proud in his mind instead of curling in a ball and waiting. But she sensed that if she pushed in any way, she’d never get the truth. He’d say something hurtful. Maybe still truth, but the harshest truth possible. If that was what he ended up going with in the end, she could bear it, but she wanted it to be his choice. She always had.

                She knew it the moment he realized, the minute all his mental turning and running and diving for cover failed him and the truth as he saw it reached up and hit him over the head. The jaguar may have had something to do with it, the suddenness at least. It had moved away from her, entirely focused on the man, and perched in the tree above his head. She bit her lip on a giggle when it swatted him in the face with its tail simultaneous to him reaching his logical dead end. The man narrowed his eyes at her in the dim of the room and she endeavored to look innocent. She didn’t think he’d be impressed with her visual interpretation of the goings on of his mind. In fact, she suspected he’d spit out one of his ugly truths instead of the one he’d just found. He watched her carefully for another minute or so and she did her best to drag herself from the comfort of the jaguar’s den. She managed, for the most part.

                His words were a surprise, distilled from the jumble his brain was giving him. “Don’t know.”

                She wanted to cry.

                She nearly did.

He knew. He knew she’d heard his mind. He was lying and telling the truth, all at the same time. He had discovered that he wouldn’t leave her. Couldn’t. Not willingly. He’d fight tooth and nail to keep her with him, mow down a thousand more Reavers, a thousand times a thousand thinking men, if it meant he didn’t have to break the ties that had formed between them. He even had an inkling of _why_ , all wrapped up in events going back to the first man he’d killed for a girl he wouldn’t name, even in the relative safety of his mind. The jaguar kept that name for him. She’d known that it had been a figurative age ago that he had put together the pieces of why she kept trying to push him away, but he hadn’t left, even then. He’d been willing at that point to wait for a while, to see if she’d force the breakage. But there, in that corridor, with her doing her best to make a final attempt to get him to go, he’d refused. For the last time. She’d have to shoot him and dump him out the airlock to get him to let go now.

                But none of it passed his lips. He didn’t want to admit it. Not to himself, not anyone. He was Richard B. fucking Riddick, Furyan, escaped convict, murderer. Not a lap dog; not on a leash. Nobody’s pet. And as hard as he’d fight to stay with her he was fighting equally hard against the idea of being tamed.

Little did he know she didn’t want him tamed. She wanted the animal. The man. The rumbling mass of muscle that on some days would be just as happy to tie her up and leave her in her bunk rather than let her take the shower first or let her dance her feet raw again. She wanted the man who’d bandaged those feet, glowering all the while. The man that left food out for her when she missed a meal. The man who’d picked her up in that corridor when there were four people all intent on taking her from him at gunpoint and every reason in the world to leave her lie and haul anchor. He could have had the ship to himself; his mind wouldn’t be open to poking and prodding. No more wrenches thrown at his head. He’d be free.

                His voice surprised her, so wrapped up in her thoughts had she been. “Couldn’t leave you.”

                And then he was there, mouth warm, lips both soft and hard. He was trying to put everything, all the conflict and realizations, into the kiss; and in River’s opinion he was doing very well at it. She could feel him shoving it all at her with his mind as his lips moved across hers. He gave, he tried to show, and he demanded in return. He demanded acknowledgement, not only of himself as a man, but of the jaguar and the whole they made between them. Flawed, imperfect, conflicted and violent, he’d chosen to tie himself to her. And she in return, did her best to push her acceptance back at him. She knew the jaguar was transmitting some of it to the man, but she also knew that the clinging of her hands as she grasped the arms he’d braced to either side of her head and the effort she was putting into levering herself up to meet the kiss and return it full force would have to do for now.

It was also not enough.

                She pulled back, feeling him follow her down until she tipped her head to one side and found his ear with her teeth. His body went rigid and a groan slipped past his lips to vibrate through the shell of her own ear, and she forced back a smile as she whispered. “Words are stones.”

                He snarled and pulled back, halfway across the room before she could blink. She lay there, still too much of the tranqs remaining in her system to allow much movement. Anger radiated off of him like a small sun, and she knew he was moments away from a brilliant display of his Furyan bloodlines. It crossed her mind then that she’d like to see what could only be found in his memories, and the temptation to push him that one step further was almost overwhelming.

Sanity reared its head and slapped her down, and River had to bite her lip as she fought for control of her mind. It was the tranqs. It had to be. Not the man in front of her, beautiful as he was dangerous. She wanted his lips back on hers, his hands on her skin, in her hair. But most of all she wanted the words. He hadn’t truly decided, not in the way a course was plotted, with calculation and an eye on the end goal. He’d reacted on instinct, merging with the animal to become _Furyan_ ; and as much as she wanted him there was still a nagging fear in the back of her head, taunting her with the fact that as long as the words remained unspoken he could beat down the jaguar and choose the course of wisdom. Of leaving her and saving himself. She didn’t know if her heart could handle it, taking him at his mind’s word and not that which came from breath and larynx and lips and tongue. She wondered momentarily what Book would have thought of her requirement of proof, the story of Thomas lurking in the edges of her mind. She had feeling that in the end, he would have understood.

Riddick on the other hand, was walling himself off so effectively from her, dropping down into the pit where he’d kept his animal, that she might as well have been trying to read a blank wall. Whether he knew it or not though, his outward appearance was giving him away. The dim light did nothing to hide the admittedly impressive bulge in his pants, and his jaw clenched as his hands worked themselves in and out of fists. Vein were popping out everywhere, and his skin was a curious mix of enraged red and the faintest glimmers of cerulean. He was glaring, head down between his shoulders like a bull about to charge, and the silver of his eyes gleamed at her like he wished he could just incinerate her with them.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. She realized at some point that there was the sound of one breath for the two bodies in the room and his animal laughed in her mind before it shoved the thought in the man’s direction. It was enough of a shock that it snapped him out of the haze of rage and confusion mixed with lust and too many other emotions to name. For a second, for just half a breath, she thought he was going to come for her again.

But he was in too much turmoil to read; and so when he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, she nearly cried out for the surprise and pain of it. Her breath hitched and she clutched at the bed when he paused at the sound of it, but the man, the Riddick, didn’t turn his head or speak. Step after careful step, he left her. And while her heart of hearts was breaking in pieces around her, the weapon couldn’t find it in herself to blame him.

 

 

 

 **Author** **’s Note:** I win. I do! There’s evil laughing going on over here. I just can’t help it. As always, I love reviews. In fact, I thrive off them!

 

These two and their cohorts and their worlds? Not mine. Much as I wish it otherwise, I won’t get a red cent from any of this and nobody would believe me anyways if I tried to claim them.

 

Translations:

No Chinese! I fail! Just couldn’t find a place to put it in. Silly River, thinking so much…

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. Fiery death!

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

 

 


	12. 12

 

Ch. 12

 

_I cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors_

_I screamed his name_ _‘til the neighbors called the cops_

_I numbed the pain at the expense of my liver_

_Don_ _’t know what I did next all I know, I couldn_ _’t stop_

“Mama’s Broken Heart” Miranda Lambert

 

He burned. His veins. His nerves. His skin. From the inside out he was burning. He knew from the shifting light in the room that he was lit up like a candle, ghostly luminescence swirling under his skin in time with his heartbeat. If he’d had a mirror he could have seen the handprint on his chest, brighter than the rest of the glow. And, he suspected, a lip print on his forehead. He never could tell where dream ended and reality began with the Furyan woman who talked in riddles that were even more confusing than River’s. At least with the girl he could usually piece some sort of whole from the bits. He snarled and sat up, scrubbing at his face like he wished he could scrub her from his mind. It wouldn’t work though, he knew it the way he knew Shirah had been trying to shove him the direction she wanted ever since he’d first woken up with silver eyes and a violet cast to his vision. Her latest words still hovered in his ears as he took a deep breath and willed the glow away. Stones building a wall, blood to cement it in place, a job half done. What the _fuck_ had she been talking about anyways? Cryptic bitch. He hoped River never met her in his head. He had the feeling that the two of them would get along like fire and a draft of pure oxygen and he’d be the one incinerated in the blast.

Fucking women.

It called to mind another question. How the hell was he going to do this? How was he going to last on this ship till they’d reached their destination? He’d done his best to plot a course for the dot on the system map named Haven, wanting nothing more than to find a place for Kyra to rest and get the fucking hell away from this ship, from River. From the girl who’d crawled up inside his skin and made her home there; sinking hooks into parts of his heart and mind that he’d sworn never, _never_ to let anyone have a hold of again. But she wouldn’t have him without _words_ and that was a line he was not prepared to cross. He’d stayed, gotten her to safety when she went down. Killed for her. Every reason in existence to leave her there and take the ship. Get the fuck out of the way of the trouble that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Ever since she’d popped out of that cryo box, she’d been a magnet for it.

But he hadn’t been able to follow through. And now he was stuck back on this boat for who knew how long, all the while breathing in apples and rain, hearing her heartbeat and her breath, knowing that she knew he’d kill for her again. Over and over if need be. He’d decimate the known planets for her because he couldn’t fucking _not._ He couldn’t not want her, want her near, want her under him, want her to try and kill him some more when her mind snapped. She _knew_ it. He was no good at blocking her and he’d been doing anything but since she’d woken up again.

And still she wanted the fucking words.

But he couldn’t make himself do it. They wouldn’t come. He couldn’t open himself up to that, to the chance that she’d take those words and the intent behind them and be the one to leave. She still hadn’t given him an answer to his question, and the possibility that she’d take her chance, take the opportunity to get away from the trouble that followed him just a truly as it did her was enough to lock his jaw on the words his animal had tried to force up past his lips. He wouldn’t do it. He refused to take the risk. Better to burn up from the inside out than watch her walk away.

The glow wasn’t going away. In fact, if past experience was anything to judge by, it was getting worse. Almost to the level of blasting out of his skin and frying anything in range. Wouldn’t that just make his fucking night? Was he a walking EMP? Could he fry the whole ship? He was half tempted to go down to the engine room and see. Or to the bridge. Some place with a lot of really vital electronics that he could- he yanked his head up and the wrongness in his ears finally registered with his brain. The ship was powered down. Almost completely. The engine wasn’t running and he could only barely hear the fans moving air through the ducts. He hadn’t noticed at first because he’d never turned on the lights when he came aboard, and the beat of his own heart in his ears had pretty much drowned everything else out. Growling, he headed for the door. If the girl was up and about, let her get an eyeful. At least the clothes he’d slept in covered up most of it. Maybe it would finally scare her off. His animal gaped its mouth and panted out a laugh at the idea. He snarled in reply.

The girl was nowhere in sight. He couldn’t hear her heartbeat in her bunk, and there were none of the telltale noises in the galley either. He poked his head into the bridge on the off chance it would net him some information and the half hope that he’d find her curled up in the pilot’s chair like he had so often before. She wasn’t there, but he did get a couple hints as to what was going on. The screens were all dimmed down to their lowest setting, none of the engine readings showing. Instead there was a timer on the forward most part of the console, numbers ticking backwards and little icons and characters pulsing slowly. He snorted and leaned in for a closer look. Shrunk down in the lower half of the screen, below the timer itself was a star chart. It was too small for him to be able to make out any names, but it didn’t look anything like the one he’d been using to set course for Haven. He stood back up, eyes narrowed and thoughts racing. What had she done? What the fuck was going on here?

He stepped back out of the bridge and into the hall that ran back to the cargo bay, turning thoughts and possibilities over in his head. That’s when he noticed, as he looked at the darkened hall, that even the little emergency lights down near the floor were out. And he’d stopped glowing. Probably because he’d set aside his rage in the attempt to come up with an explanation for the engine being down. He gave a mental shrug and kept going. Not like he wanted to be a beacon anyways. He liked the dark better. The light in his veins was, in the end, more of a liability than an asset. ‘Sides, he had shit to do.

In retrospect he should have heard her. At least from the bridge. The man gave the animal a look that suggested it was entirely its fault, but the big cat merely blinked its eyes and returned to cleaning a paw. It wasn’t until he entered the bay itself he noticed that the heart he’d been subconsciously monitoring for the past week or so had taken up residence there. And not in a metaphorical sense either. A high pitched keening noise mixed with the occasional harsh breath was the next thing he noticed and he aimed a glare at his animal, silently demanding that it get off its metaphysical ass and give him some help. The animal ignored him. Which, part of him said, was only what he deserved for trying to take its match from it. He growled and shoved the thought aside as he scanned the bay for the source of the noise and the owner of the rapidly beating heart.

He found her in the corner, along the wall in a patch of shadow so dark that would have almost hidden its occupants if he hadn’t been the one looking. As it was he could make out a figure kneeling at the head of the box, curled in on itself and resting its forehead on the rim. He was halfway over to her before he knew he’d moved; animal and man unified in their goal to do whatever was needed to get River to _stop_ crying like that. He could smell her now, and he had a moment to wonder at how his senses had shut down before he was there, crouching next to her and inhaling deeply. No apples. No rain. Enough wet earth to form a bog with the salt of her tears. That was all he got, and try as he might he couldn’t pick anything else out of the mix. She was muttering between breaths, and he couldn’t tell through the keening if it was Chinese or Common, but something told him it didn’t matter. Her heart was racing far above anything he’d heard from her so far and just as he reached a hand towards her she drew another of those great shuddering gasps, lungs kept from expanding fully by the position she was holding. Her entire body was taut, every muscle defined, delicate veins standing out on her temples. He stopped just short of touching her. It was a commitment, one he’d promised not to make after he’d stalked out of the infirmary that afternoon and gone to lock himself up in his bunk. He’d planned to come out only to eat, and the hell with her if she tried to get any sort of interaction out of him before they reached their destination. And yet here he was, out of his bunk, all set to try and get her to stop crying. Some heartless dick he’d turned out to be.

He waited for her to notice him. For her to pull her blades and launch herself at him with death in her eyes. For her to turn and compromise herself, to throw that lithe beautiful body into his arms and accept that he couldn’t say the words. He just couldn’t. Not now and maybe not ever. He didn’t bother to try and shield his thoughts, but neither did he try to push them at her. She’d picked them up easily enough in the past and he expected her to do the same now.

But she ignored him. It was as if he didn’t exist, wasn’t next to her. Wasn’t even on the same ship. She didn’t smell of insanity, either the kind that led to rambling or the kind that led to blood and dancing. It was as if she was so far gone in her grief that she couldn’t even look outside her own mind. She seemed locked there, oblivious. And he had the sinking feeling that if he got up, walked back to his bunk and came back the next morning he’d find her still curled up in this spot, crying and whispering as she clung to the coffin. The imagery disturbed him so much, of his River, the woman who’d challenged and threatened and mocked him every step of the way from the Necro ship to the skyplex crying herself into something much more permanent than sleep as she clung to the memories of _his_ dead, that he had picked her up and drug her into his lap before he even knew what he was doing.

The man froze, yelling in protest as the animal leapt down from its tree and stalked over to give the girl a sniff. She didn’t seem to notice any change in position beyond turning her face into his chest and grabbing for the arms that surrounded her. He let her cry like that for a while as he warred with himself, animal and man circling. They were each trying to protect her, although it was for different reasons, and they were each trying to protect themselves. The animal said what it had always said: that she was their match; that he should take her and claim her and let her know who she belonged to body and soul. The man wanted the same, but he wanted to have an out even more and as Riddick felt the argument between the two unfold in his head all over again he growled in irritation. This was getting him fucking nowhere.

Swallowing the growl, he laid a hand on River’s shoulder, feeling it shake and quiver as she drew in another breath. “River,” he murmured, and she jerked in his arms before going still. Shakes gone, gooseflesh crawled under his hand as she panted out short breaths and clutched even harder at his arms. He waited, hoping she wouldn’t decide to come up fighting. He wasn’t looking forward to any more bruises and her fists, while small, were _hard._ But it turned out he shouldn’t have worried, because while her heart had given an extra hard thump and restarted itself, the girl herself didn’t show any indications of moving. Or even responding. Sighing, he tried again. “River? You in there?”

Her reply was nearly his undoing. “Riddick,” she croaked through lips so dry they’d cracked and bled. Her hands clenched convulsively and he could feel her nails biting into his skin. He wrapped his arms tighter, the better to hold her, the better to keep himself from doing the unforgivable. If he held her like this he couldn’t lay her out on the deck beneath him and truly earn himself a place in the worst of hells.

And then she was off again, whispering words he could finally make out. “ _Runtse de shang dee, ching daiwuhtzo… Woushang mayer, maysheen, byen shr to!_ Please God make me a stone, cut out this heart and turn my mind. _Wuo dwaynee boo woon, boo jen..._ don’t want to see or hear!” He lost the rest in her mumbling in a haze of self-directed rage. He didn’t need to know what half the words meant. He could take a fair guess.

And it was all his fault.

He’d gotten people killed before. Killed some himself. Killed a lot himself. Proximity to him usually led to death. He’d lost count of the fellow prisoners who’d tried to get out of Slam with him and died. Cannon fodder he’d called them, just like the Necros who’d come with him to this fucked up end of the galaxy. Far fewer were the people who’d attached themselves to him that he’d made a true effort to keep safe, going so far as to park his ass on a chunk of ice for five years just to draw the mercs away in one very memorable instance. And had it made a bit of difference? Imam had betrayed his location with the best of intentions. Kyra had signed her own death warrant when she went looking for him. Caroline had come back for him, wrapped her arms around him and hauled him to his feet. Put herself between the light and the raptors and died for it. For him. All the way back to childhood, he could count the people he’d made an honest effort at trying to save and protect on one hand. And they’d all died for knowing him. And now here was the latest, a girl who had kept up, who was just as much a threat to his life as he knew he’d be to hers, who hadn’t been taken down by a blade or a raptor or even a real bullet. And he’d done it again, saved her, gotten her away from the mercs, picked bits of bullet casing out of her shoulder and wrapped up the wound. Was is the mercs who’d finally get her? No. It was, like all the rest, the degree to which he cared for a person that decided their death. And River, shaking and crying and whispering in his arms, wasn’t going to go out in a blaze of glory. She was going to die of a broken heart, right here in front of him.

And it was his fault.

The arguments of the man against their position had ceased, worry and anger overcoming all else. The animal had drifted off, and looked like it was hunting for something in the corners of his mind. He let it. His instincts were usually what sparked plans and drove him to survival. Maybe they could come up with something to break the girl in his arms out of the trance she’d fallen back into. He waited, mulling his options, trying to shut his ears to her cracking voice, and let his fingers trace circles over her shoulder and tangle in her hair. He didn’t know how long he sat there. There were no indicators of time in the ship. No lights, nothing. Just darkness and tears.

Finally his animal came back and nudged the man’s hand before dropping the thought into his head. His mouth opened before he could stop it. “River. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He almost thought it hadn’t worked. She didn’t respond at first. And then, after another long gulp of air, she spoke. “Don’t know what to do. Don’t know where to go.” Riddick opened his mouth to reply but she was off and running. “The girl is broken. Not wanted here. Can’t go back to _Serenity_. They will pity her. Know that she is broken and crazy again. _Ge ge_ will want to put her back on meds. Wrap her up in chains of love so she never is lost or hurt again _._ They will smother her. This is what she fears.” She shivered and curled even tighter in on herself. “Better anyway. There were bombs on Mother, to drive the girl out of cover and into their arms. Bombs and her family would have died. How can she bring that back to them? They may still die for knowing her, but if she could draw the hunters…”

Riddick growled, more at himself than her, and dropped his head into the cloud of her hair. There was nothing in her scent, still, of anything but wet earth and tears, but her heart beat had slowed marginally and she seemed to have her breathing a bit more under control. “Do you want to go back?” It was all he could put together while his mind turned the rest of her words over and over.

She stiffened. “Miss them,” she cried, and buried her face back in his chest.

His animal growled, the man leaned forward. Riddick worked his fingers a little deeper into her hair and waited for her to surface for air. When she did he tilted her head back and forced her to meet his eyes. “Broken don’t mean crazy,” he growled. “You put yourself back together before, right?”

Hesitantly, she nodded. Still feeling the breath rumbling in his chest and wanting to go and kill every single person who’d made her feel this way, himself included, he gave her head a little shake. “Then we pick up the pieces and make you whole again. Take it one step at a time. You got me?”

Her eyes went huge. Her mouth gaped. For a moment she looked like a normal human instead of the genius psychic that gave him more lip and more dirty looks than was safe for anyone’s wellbeing. “We,” she asked in a tiny voice, cracking and hoarse as her fingers inched their way up his arms.

He tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the eyes and lips currently searing their way into the back of his eyes. Leaning down to set his forehead against hers he nodded. “We. Can’t leave you River. Can’t seem to make myself.” He pulled back a little to see her face entire. “But you gotta answer the question. What do you _want_?

He thought he knew. He hoped he knew. He hoped that she wouldn’t pull herself together long enough to make the wise choice. To make the smart decision that would probably break him just as badly as he had broken her. Her eyes scanned his face, flitting back and forth as her hands crept up over his shoulders and came to rest just under his ears. He did his best to shove his thoughts, emotions and all, towards her; letting her see that all of his worry, self-hatred, anger and regret was a small price to pay if it kept her hands on his skin and those eyes on his. How could he have been so stupid?

She snorted out a laugh, and although there was still a tightness around her eyes and her muscles hadn’t entirely relaxed, he decided to take it as a good sign. Until she opened her mouth to speak again. “Words are stones,” she whispered, eyes deadly serious, face stern.

He jerked in place as they drove though him, deep into his brain, past where even the animal made its home. The air around them lit up and he nearly groaned in realization. In his arms River twitched, pulling back far enough to see that it wasn’t just her imagination. He was glowing again. He shot her a look that told her that any comment, any joke, would mean he’d have to make her regret it to the end of her days. Which probably wouldn’t be too far off considering the circumstances. She snapped her mouth shut and clamped her hands over it for good measure before nodding. Grumbling internally, Riddick reached for one of the shivs tucked into his belt and hoped what his animal was showing him would turn out to be right. Trust Shirah to try and stick her nose in his private life too. Bitch.

Bringing the blade around in front of him he took one of River’s hands from her mouth and laid the hilt in her palm. “Here are your words River. You are my match. _Mine_. My fucking _match_. You keep up and sometimes you make me keep up with you. Never met a person who could do either. You see _me,_ not the convict, not the murderer,” he glanced down at the shift and play of light under his skin. “The glowing freak of nature.” And he cocked an eyebrow at the giggle that burbled past her lips. “The man that will let you lead him around this fucked up galaxy by the nose and you are _damned right_ I will fight tooth and nail not to lose you. And we’ll take this one step at a time, even if it means you want to go back to the fucked up little family of yours. I may kill them all in their sleep, but I’ll try putting up with them first.” Then he took her hand and the shiv in it, leaned back to give himself a little space, and laid the edge of the blade against the inside of his arm right over the artery and pressed until blood welled. “Words are stones girl,” he murmured as he let go. She kept her hand and the blade in place, eyes flicking from it to his face as he continued. “Build a wall with them. Mortar it with blood.” And he gave a mental shove in her direction of everything Shirah had dropped into his mind with the kiss to the forehead that had woken him.  

River sucked in a breath, held it, moved the blade of the shiv a quarter inch to the left and drew it down his arm in a long steady stroke. Riddick felt his lips twitch at the pain, and he noted in some detached part of his brain that the blood still glowed a little before it ran down his arm and dimmed. He didn’t have time to think on that though, because she was pushing the shiv back into his hand and bringing it up to her arm. Startled, he stared at her and she stared back. Her eyes were still wet, her cheeks glistening in the glow, and her mouth set in a firm line. He couldn’t look away from those lips, cracked and bleeding as they were, even as they opened and the words poured out. “My match,” she hissed and pressed his hand down till he could smell her blood. The wet earth was fading into cool water, apples and rain over the top of that. “Mine.” Her eyes burned into his as she gripped his hand tighter, driving the blade a little further into her skin. “Don’t fear me. Never have. See the crazy, the weapon, the girl. Never treated her as broken. Never pitied. Keeps up,” her lips twitched slightly. “Makes her work to keep up with him. With the Riddick. _Dong ma?_ ”

His animal shoved something at him he assumed was some sort of translation for the last phrase, but he wasn’t paying much attention. His whole world had narrowed down to the girl in his lap; her eyes, her lips, her everything. She’d let go of his hand and it took him a second to realize she was waiting for his answer. He growled, feeling it in his bones as his fingers clenched around the shiv. He didn’t have the control, didn’t have it in him to stop if he did this. Carefully, more for the sake of not losing what was left of his mind and jumping her right there than out of any worry he’d cut her deeper, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You know what comes next River. Last chance to avoid it.”

He could almost feel her sifting through his mind, through the things he wanted to do to her. The things he _would_ do to her. The man had given up any semblance of protest and waited with a disturbing amount of eagerness. The animal was twitching its tail in anticipation. Vanilla threatened to drown him and her heart raced as she turned her head to growl in his ear. “Do it Riddick. Build the wall. Mortar it with blood.”

He shifted the blade just enough that it would miss the artery and pressed, dragging it down her forearm as quickly as he could before dropping the shiv and grabbing for her elbow. He yanked, feeling the cut on his arm burn as it rubbed against the edges of the one down her’s and he brought his lips down on hers, engulfing them with his own and making her _his._ She moaned and reached her free hand up to the back of his neck, pressing herself up against him and bringing him as close as they could manage with their torn and bleeding arms between them.

What followed was only to be expected. Tearing his lips from hers to trail them along the line of her jaw, he breathed her in, matched his heartbeat to hers, and lost himself in the sensation. She moaned, shifting around till her legs straddled his hips and her center pressed against the length of his shaft. He groaned and bit, sucking gently on her ear before moving down her neck to her clavicle. She gasped again when he took it in his teeth and her free hand clenched convulsively on his neck before sliding down his shoulder and ribcage, leaving a trail of fire against his skin even through the cloth. Her fingers teased and played around the hem of his shirt as he nibbled and sucked his way from one collar bone to the other and then back up her neck to her ear again. She was panting now; breath coming in little sobs as she moved against him in a way he _knew_ wasn’t intentional but may as well have been calculated to drive him absolutely out of his mind. He found her mouth and took it as he wrapped his free arm around her hips and settled her even more firmly against him.

The blood was still dripping from their cuts, and he could almost feel her moving in his mind like she was moving against his body. The man had let himself go, the animal was rumbling in satisfaction and triumph; and as the last bit of rational thought left his control he had a moment to wonder at the third presence that seemed to have made its home in the animal’s tree, perched on one of its broad branches and burying its hands in the thick fur before her. The mental image was lost though as she writhed against him again and yanked her bleeding arm free. He growled a protest against the curve of her shoulder and bit gently. Her breathy laugh tingled in his ear as the fingers of both hands worked themselves up under his shirt and spread across his diaphragm.

Suddenly he didn’t care so much that she’d taken her arm back; it let him use his now free hand to rip her shirt down the front while the other found its home in the small of her back and the divot at the base of her spine. The open shirt brought up a whole new set of possibilities, and he leaned forward, running his nose down her neck, pausing to lay a kiss in the hollow of her throat before continuing down to the valley between those small round breasts. He ran into a snag there, finding a bra where there shouldn’t have been one and he rumbled in frustration, grabbing it in his teeth and yanking before he’d really thought about it. That earned him another laugh and she reached back for the hand he’d been using to keep her center matched with his, guiding it up her spine and to the clasp between her shoulder blades. Something whispered in his mind, half a taunt about how long it must have been that he didn’t remember how to undo a bra, and he retaliated with a mental growl and a snap at one of the nipples still covered in fabric and out of reach. He almost ripped the back of the bra off, but he finally managed to get the clasp undone with fingers that had never been clumsier.

He was about to start working the straps off her shoulders when she surprised him again, lunging forward and clamping small teeth around his jugular as her hands rose under his shirt and did her best to drag it over his head. He had to let go of his hold on her to raise his arms and help her get the thing off him. He didn’t need it anyways. She had to quit biting his throat though, and her hips ground against his as she rocked in place to catch her balance. It set the blood rushing and nerves fast forwarding messages to his brain that he really didn’t need to have explained. As soon as his hands were free he bent her over backwards, fingers slipping under the torn edges of her shirt and shifting it down, over her shoulders and along her arms. She moaned and bucked her hips against his and he groaned a wordless reply, trailing lips and tongue down her stomach till he reached the waistband of her pants, then along it till he found an exposed hip bone. She shuddered as he worked it over, letting his hands run back up to her shoulders, pausing to finger the insides of her elbows when he noticed that a touch there got him another moan.

The blood was still dripping from their arms, and he could taste it on her skin. Combined with her sweat and the scent of vanilla in his nose he figured it for the best kind of overdose imaginable. There was something new in the air as well, a spicy musk that made him think of things that till now, had only existed in his mind. Cinnamon, nutmeg. Warm fur. An image unfolded in his brain of a huge black jaguar, imminently pleased with itself, laid out over a smaller form and nuzzling it behind the ear. And then the image was gone, lost as River bucked against him again and her bra could finally be tossed off to parts unknown so better attention could be paid to those breasts that had been taunting him for who knew how _fucking_ long. She giggled at the thought and he couldn’t bring himself to care as he took first one and then the other nipple in his teeth and ran his tongue over each in turn. She stopped giggling and let out a little shrieking gasp of surprise as her hands came down to flutter over his arms as they wrapped around her back and he let his fingers creep under her waistband. Bits of lace were found and he growled in frustration at yet another obstacle in his way.

He could feel her, in every way, as he left two pert nipples tight in the air and nibbled his way back up to her neck. She was giving off elation, anticipation, surprise, and a thousand variations of the three that he couldn’t even name. He took her throat in his teeth and brought them together just _so_ before returning to her chest and rubbing his jaw along her ribcage. He didn’t know where the action came from. He didn’t care. She was groaning under his him and he could feel her want and need vibrate right down to his bones as the sound moved from her body to his. And then she was scrabbling her hands down the front of his neck, her fingernails leaving trails down his chest as she curled herself up and in and he could feel her muscles flex before the motion of her made him raise his head to get it out of the way. Her fingers ran once under the waistband of his pants, catching slightly as they slid past his tip where it was shoving its way out of confinement before she settled on the snap and broke it open.

Next thing he was aware of she’d eeled out of his grasp and lunged; sending him tipping over backwards as she rode him down, one hand down his pants, the other bracing herself on the deck as she took a mouthful of pectoral and bit hard before sucking and letting go. He roared, less with the pain and surprise of having his head impact with the deck and far more in response to what her hand was doing to his dick. There were no barriers there, and her small fingers wrapped themselves around his length before drawing up towards the tip, resting just at the base of his head and dancing over the most sensitive bits.

He was groaning now, rumbling deep in his chest, and she breathed out a laugh over his abs as she inched her mouth down his stomach. Her other hand trailed down his arm, past the cut, over his fingers and out of his reach to land on his hip. She dipped her face and her tongue flicked out to tease his head. He was still trying to catch his breath when she let go, grabbed his pants in both hands and pulled. The lights on the ceiling quivered and pulsed in time with his racing heart and breath as she crawled back up his body, and he’d never thought that small breasts dragging up his legs could do thing things to him that they were currently doing. His mind went completely blank and he couldn’t even visualize the animal he knew was crawling its way out of his bones for all the vanilla and musk and sheer _need_ that pulsed through and around them.

He found himself a few moments later as she laid herself out over him, lips on his, tongue pushing into his mouth. He joined her in the exploration, memorizing her from the inside out as she did the same. She’d centered herself over him again, and the rocking of her hips against him as she writhed in his arms was going to be his undoing if he didn’t remedy things quickly. Dragging his fingers down her ribcage, cupping her breasts in his palms briefly before continuing down her stomach, he found the tie that kept her pants up. It was the work of a moment to undo the knot, and a lurch and a twist and he was over her, staring down into those dark eyes as he cushioned her head against the metal of the deck. She locked her ankles behind his back and bucked once, demanding, before lunging for his throat again. He let her catch it, groaning as shockwaves ran through his skin before managed to drag himself away and along her body. Lips and tongue and fingers, he worked himself down her neck, collarbone, breasts and ribs, down her sides, biting gently till he reached her hipbones and the edge of her pants.

He could feel her legs around him, and the heat of the small furnace at her center and she twitched and quivered and cried out in a language he didn’t know. He pressed his face to her mound, finding the nub with his nose and he nearly got it broken for his trouble as she shrieked and bucked again. He held her down with his hands at her hips and got out of the way before she could snap his neck with her thighs. A growl worked its way out of his chest, up his throat and through his lips and he leaned back down, letting it rumble against the damp fabric. And then, before she could nearly kill him again, he hooked his fingers over the waistband, found the lace of her underwear as well, and _yanked_ , pulling back and taking the last of her clothing with him.

He tossed the offending pile of cloth off somewhere and took a moment to look down at her, skin a special kind of luminous and hair spread around her head. Her eyes were huge, lips swollen, and the aureoles of her breasts drew his gaze as they rose and fell in jerky little bobs while she lay there panting on the dark floor. He could see it when she decided to sit up and canceled the action by meeting her mouth with his. She rolled her hips as his length found her center again and cried out against his mouth. He bit her bottom lip in reply, reached down with his bleeding arm to cup her mound in his palm and then rocked his hand, just a bit. She shrieked again and her back arched as she clutched convulsively at his shoulders.

Just as she came up for air and a demand for more that he didn’t know how he knew was coming, he slipped a finger inside and rolled his hand again. She was wet, hot, and tight around him and it was all he could do not to replace his hand with his dick and finish what they’d started right then. But he could feel the resistance, the proof he hadn’t needed that she’d never done this before, and he wasn’t such an asshole as to not at least _try_ to be gentle. Although if she kept moving like this under him, all bets were about to be off. He could feel her, with every nerve ending. Her heart beat inside his skin and he could feel his breath in her chest. He didn’t know if it was because he was still glowing or what, and frankly he didn’t care.

Another finger, another shriek, and he chuckled, knowing it would infuriate her. She responded in kind, reaching down and grabbing his tip with her bloody hand and rubbing a thumb around its edge. He was well served for teasing her, and he bit back a cry as his hips moved forward of their own accord. She rose to meet him with her own, blood and other body fluids mixing as his fingers got pushed deeper inside and his thumb managed to find the nub inside her mound. He rubbed it as she had him and leaned down to catch her mouth in his as her eyes crossed and she lost her voice. Her other hand was down there now, and she was trying to yank him out so she could make put something entirely different in her instead.

He let her, growling against her jaw as she managed to guide his tip to her entry. She jerked her head around and glared at him when he paused, and he laughed as he trailed his hand down her side, leaving a wet sticky trail where he touched her. She was about to try and bite him again, and he slid his hips away from hers as she tried to buck upwards and impale herself. Catching her before her ass could drop back the deck, he held her there as he slid forward and in, and he tried to close his ears to the gasp of pain; but at the moment _everything_ was loud, from their breathing to sound of skin on skin to their hearts as they tried to beat their way out of chests suddenly too small to hold them. Something moved in his head while he hung there and waited for her to get used to the feeling, something very like a hand running through thick fur from head to tail as a warm body stretched out next to his. Satisfaction was a hum up the spine, followed quickly by a burst of need so strong that he was startled into motion.

She lurched to meet him as he lunged forward and somehow she ended up back in his lap again and he was surrounded by her, buried to the hilt in her. She jerked reflexively as he ground his hips forward and the pace was set. Fingers in hair, arms wrapped around ribs, and lips leaving burning trails across skin, they lost track of where one body ended and the other began as their hearts matched and overran the tempo of their movement as their bodies tried to keep up. There was fire under the skin, and he didn’t know if it was just him glowing or if she was too and he didn’t care because they were finally there, fitted together like puzzle pieces. His match. Hers. Meant only for each other and the rest of the universe could go and burn for all he cared at the moment. She rose and fell against him, breath coming first in little sobbing gasps, then a high keening shriek as she climbed higher and higher. He bucked against her, using his hands and arms to add momentum to her movement, and growled against her breast as he nipped and sucked at the soft flesh and followed her ascent.

He didn’t know. He’d never know. They came together, her shrieking his name so loud it seemed to ring inside his skull right down to that place past where his animal lived, him roaring hers and his skin flaring brighter than a small sun as she clenched and shook to pieces around him and he tried to find new depths in which to bury himself in her.

Minds overloaded, brains shut down momentarily, and when they both came back to themselves they were still slick with blood, sweat and their combined fluids as the residual seeped from between her legs. He didn’t care. She didn’t care. Unthinking, moving on instinct alone, they leaned forward to whisper one phrase into the shell of the ear in front of them.

“ _My. Match._ ”

 

 

 **Author** **’s Note:** Apologies to all for the gap in time here. Life reached up and kicked me in the teeth this past year or so. Like, surgeries and career deciding tests kick in the teeth. I am also at the point here where what I have written past this is LONG (just not fixed up and ready for posting). So I don’t know if I should split this into ‘books’ in interest of not killing people with words. What do you think?

 

I nearly tried to put this off for at least one more chapter, but I just couldn’t come up with a good reason why. The problem had been presented, a solution needed to be found or they’d both go nuts and I really didn’t want to have to write about them nearly murdering each other again, cause I figured that’s where it would end up.

Apologies to those who are not fans of lemons (myself included). I would have put up more of a warning, but that would have given the game away. I hope this turned out ok. I tend to skim lemons a lot of the time, and I’ve never ever written one before. But this is the only way I could see this going, and there are important nuggets of info in there, sandwiched between all the steamy goodness. Don’t expect the UST to go away though. Things are no fun without a little of that. And the story is FAR from over. It’s just now, they’re moving on side by side for the most part, instead of dancing around each other. And don’t expect Riddick to come over all gushy right away either. He’s still got his pride after all, and River loves her mind games.

I’ve been thinking of sticking up a listing of the scents Riddick gets off her and their emotional equivalents. What do you guys think? Or do you want him to keep translating in story for you? ‘Cause eventually he’ll be so used to them he won’t bother to tag them.

 

AS ALWAYS: NONE OF THEM ARE MINE! BPthththh

Translations:

 _Runtse de shang dee, ching DAIwuhtzo:_ Merciful God please take me away

 _Woushang mayer, maysheen, byen shr to:_ I will close my ears and my heart and I will be a stone

 _Wuo dwaynee boo woon, boo jen:_ I neither see nor hear you...

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. Fiery death!

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.


	13. 13

 

Ch. 13

 

_Maybe I'm the one_

_Maybe I'm the one who is the schizophrenic psycho (yeah)_

_Maybe I'm the one_

_Maybe I'm the one who is the paranoid Flake-oh_

                “Psycho” Puddle of Mudd

 

 

It was the clunk of the engine turning over that woke them. Gears moved, fans started to spin again, and a steady hum vibrated through the deck and into his bones. Riddick’s mind gathered itself, cataloging the chill of the metal he was laying on, the warmth of the body stretched over his, and noticing that the lights had turned on. Barely. But they were lights of electricity and plastic instead of his blood glowing, so that was a good thing. A string of numbers ran through his thoughts, calculations on time drifting, time to destination, and possible angles of atmospheric entry given the plane of approach. He turned them over, curious, but more interested in the small movements of the girl on top of him and the reactions she was bringing to the fore. And then a phrase blasted into his head, ricocheting around like a bullet. ::The Riddick glows blue!::

                He roared in surprise and clutched at his head, trying to figure out where it had come from. ::What the _fuck_ ,:: he asked himself and River shot upright over him, hands over her ears and mouth open in a silent scream before she curled in on herself and rammed her skull into his diaphragm. He gasped for breath and did his best not to roll over and tip her onto the deck as stars exploded behind his eyes and his jaguar hissed at them all.

::Oh no,: : a small voice whispered in his head, and he turned his head to stare at the snarl of dark hair spreading up his chest and burying him in her scent. Sex. Apples. Rain. That spicy musk he couldn’t name.

Her bare shoulders were shaking, and he lost himself a moment as he stared at the bruises and teeth marks on them before pulling enough scraps of his mind together to ask. “River?”

She erupted, toppling sideways before he could catch her and curling up in a fetal position on the deck as she laughed until she cried. Grumbling at the loss of her warmth on his skin and fighting the sinking feeling in his gut, he levered himself upright and ran his hands over his head as he tried to make his mind function. Was that really-? Did she really-? What had _happened_?

“B-bo-bonding,” River stammered out between gasps for breath as she tried to sit upright and failed spectacularly.

He caught her before she could bounce her head off the deck and tipped her chin so she could try and look him in the eye. “What now?”

She took a huge gulp of air, tried to hold it, and lost herself to the giggles again. Riddick growled. ::Not funny River.::

It didn’t help. If anything it made her worse. ::Sorry! Sorry! But he wanted it! A way-:: and she was stuttering even in her mind as her thoughts dissolved in mirth. Sighing, Riddick reached over, caught her by one arm, and pulled her back into his lap. His skin burned where she touched him, and the gooseflesh on his arms wasn’t from the chill. Sternly he told himself to back off, not that any part of his subconscious ever listened, and tried to make the man rule the animal. He succeeded, partially. She was his now after all, and they’d have her under him again soon.

River’s laughed trailed off as vanilla bloomed in the air again and she turned to nuzzle him under the jaw. He growled at her, but it wasn’t serious and they both knew it. “Now,” he said, and tried to ignore the ear she laid on his chest and the feel of her hair on his skin. “You laughing ‘cause we can hear each other’s thoughts or because I glow blue?” He tried to look deadly as he said it, but he knew it wasn’t working. Although if it turned out she was laughing at the glowing, he had several things in mind to torture her with in retaliation. Most of them involved going back to his bunk and not coming out till it was leave or starve. Hell, why did they need to stay in the bunk? They had the ship to themselves didn’t they? A giggle against his chest drew his attention back to the girl and he scowled. ::What’s so funny?::

Her lips twitched and she tried to cover them with her fingers. He snatched them up and eyed them, shoving visions of his first targets of torture at her. She froze, and answered in a mock timid voice. “The speaking?”

He waited. He’d come to know this girl. When she didn’t answer, he took the pad of her thumb in his teeth and worried it gently. She gasped, writhed, and tried to take the hand back. “The blue,” she gasped, before curling up and starting to laugh again.

Riddick growled and started down the side of her thumb towards the wrist. ::Don’t need my mouth to speak now,:: he sent at her. ::Opens up all sorts of ways to torture you if you want to keep laughing at me.::

::No,:: and her voice was serious even as she shifted so she was facing away from him and his length was pressing against the small of her back, his legs to either side of hers. She ran her free hand down his thigh, and he bit harder on the wrist. She gasped and twitched and he decided he loved being able to make her move involuntarily. ::Beautiful is too tame a word for it. Glorious. Right. Alpha Furyan, last of his line.:: She tipped her head backwards so she could look him in the eye and he let go of her wrist long enough to meet her gaze before reaching for her shoulder with his teeth. Her words were dropping into his mind like stones in a still pond, echoing something through man and animal that made both halves of his self sit up and take notice. And then she wiggled backwards into him, lifted her hands to trace down the back of his neck, and neither one of them thought in words for a very long time.

It was a chiming that brought them out of the haze that surrounded them. Riddick heard it first as it built in volume from a quiet bell to near klaxon-like proportions. At least to his ears. Groaning and rubbing her temples, River sat up next to him. “Apologies,” she muttered. “Will never mock his hearing again if this is what everything sounds like.”

He laughed and sat up next to her, running a hand up her back and letting it come to rest at the base of her neck. “Gonna have to find a way to block some of this. Not,” he murmured as he kissed her shoulder, “that it doesn’t have its uses.” And he grinned at the way her eyes glazed in remembrance of knowing the sensations of both bodies, just where to put the hands or the mouth for this or that effect, of twining together as they reached the climax. It was enough to set him off again, and he could smell the damp between her legs as her body answered the call.

But the alarm was drilling a hole in his skull and he had half a mind to go tear the bridge to pieces so he could never get interrupted again. River shot him a _look_ before sighing and scrambling to her feet. He followed the line of her body with his hand as she stood and clamped his fingers around her ankle once in warning before letting go and taking the outstretched hand she was offering to help him up. He laughed again at that, as she set her weight in counterpoint to his, and sent her a mental image of a kitten trying to get his animal going by shoving at it with its nose. She retaliated with the kitten biting the jaguar’s tail and running and he conceded the point. He was too relaxed to be pissed anyways.

He was not, however, so relaxed that he didn’t enjoy the view as they padded down the hall towards the bridge. At least, he enjoyed it until he noticed she was limping slightly. He pushed the question at her and she groaned and clutched at her head. “Quieter please,” she muttered. “Easier to hear directed thoughts now and sudden sympathy with the clapper of a bell has been found.”

He laughed and picked her up, slinging her over one shoulder while she shrieked in surprise. “Every time you yell like that? In my ear? Now you know how I feel.” She snorted explosively but didn’t complain as he crossed through the hatch, ducking so as not to scrape her off on the sill, and kicked the chair around so he could drop her into it. She however, stuck out her tongue before turning it so she could reach the console.

When he tried to turn it back she clung to the edges of the desk and braced herself against the motion. ::The feet are fine. Not the reason for limping:: Riddick tilted his head to the side in curiosity as he felt the embarrassment in the words while burnt sugar rose in the air. This new trick of theirs was turning out to be all kinds of interesting. So interesting in fact, that he didn’t fully process her statement for a good minute or so.

He barked out a laugh when the pieces fell in place, and leaned over the back of the chair the take a handful of her hair and tilt her face so he could meet her eyes. “Don’t plan on walking straight for a while then.”

River laughed and reached up a hand to squeeze his before going back to what she’d been doing. Riddick didn’t mind. He could smell apples and rain almost drowning in vanilla wrapped up in silk. He could _feel_ the satisfaction and anticipation rolling off of her and through him. His animal, the jaguar, was purring and the man relaxed in a way that had never happened before. He wondered at it, the ease in which he was taking this new development in stride. Before the Quasi-Dead had ripped through his mind and taken memories he didn’t know he’d had he would have sworn that it wasn’t possible. After, he would have sworn he’d kill anyone who managed to get so close to him that the two halves of his whole dropped their defenses so entirely. And here he was, with a girl he’d known barely a month taking up residence in his head, literally, and he in hers. He had the feeling that now, if he couldn’t find her up there, he might not be able to keep his sanity and wasn’t _that_ one for the psychologists to figure. Good for him he never planned to see the inside of any sort of prison again.

In the pilot’s seat, River giggled and he looked at her for an answer. She didn’t look back, saying only “She feels the thoughts. Like water over stones in a brook. He still thinks loudly.” She flashed him a grin before bringing a star chart up on one of the screens. ::We will have to learn to wall any thoughts we wish to keep private.::

Just for that he picked her up, right out of the chair, kicked it around to face him, and sat down before dropping her in his lap.::’Sat so,:: he asked as he pinned her in his arms and squeezed.

She huffed out a breath and wiggled in an attempt to get free. “Got work to do,” she muttered halfheartedly as she tried to bring an elbow to bear on his ribs. He squeezed a little tighter and started nibbling his way up her spinal cord. She stilled, breath stopping momentarily as vanilla and spicy musk overpowered everything in the room. He felt her in his mind, a sudden excitement. A wariness. Frowning, he stopped teasing and turned her so he could see her face completely. She was glassy eyed, and he couldn’t tell why for sure. ::River?::

He almost thought she wouldn’t answer. Hadn’t heard him. But eventually she blinked and met his eyes. “Everyone deserves privacy of thought,” she whispered. “They wanted to know hers. Made her know others’. Without the right to think to one’s self, the whole universe would be prisoners. Even slaves may have their thoughts, but take that away and what are we left with?”

The vanilla had faded, to be replaced with apples and rain and just a trace of lemon. It didn’t smell right on her at all, especially with the blood and evidence of sex still left on her body. Lemon had no place in her scent, and he was gripped with a sudden desire to never smell it on her again. Or else find whoever the fuck made her smell like that and rip them limb from limb. He’d take the former but the latter was a pretty good solution in his opinion.

“Can’t,” she whispered. “Can’t do away with them all. They are the power behind the Alliance. Everything we touch leads back to them. Blue Sun,” she shuddered. “Manufacturers, businessmen. Food, clothing, mines, engine parts, fuel cells. Have a hand in it all. Funds their researches and armies. Don’t need Parliamentary oversight because their funding doesn’t come from governments. It comes from the people.” She was shrinking in on herself now, hands coming up to cling to the arms around her. “Two by two, hands of blue. Sonics and tranq bullets. Trigger words and behavioral coding.” Lemons and charcoal filled the air around them and he could see her in his mind, up in the tree with the jaguar and her face buried in its fur. It made him want to kill something, even as she shook her head. “Topple them and topple the ‘Verse. Run run run little rabbit, down to your hole.”

Riddick growled and turned her so she could curl up against his chest. “Fuck them,” he muttered. “You aren’t a rabbit. You’re predator. A queen. A hunter. Take your pick, but you aren’t a fucking rabbit. We have to run then fine, been running most of my life. But they try to take us, they’ll see Hell. Tween you and me, figure we can kill anyone and anything.”

She stilled at that, and he realized she’d managed to wall a bit of her mind off from him. He could feel the thoughts turning over, jagged as broken glass, but he didn’t know what they were exactly. Finally she sighed and laid her head back so she could look at him. “And if she is triggered? The weapon is incomplete. Safety problematic. More akin a grenade than a rifle. Imminent bloody death may occur if he stays in proximity when it occurs. And it will eventually,” she was tracing patterns into his skin, over the myriad scars that covered his arms and torso, leaving behind trails of fire in her wake; and he growled when he realized she was trying to distract him. Carefully as he could while still making his point, he caught her hands and thought at her to _stop_. She rolled her eyes, but her scent and emotions didn’t change. “Nearly killed Captain Daddy last time. Would have. Would have killed him and taken out as much of the city as she could reach before they put her down. “

Riddick snorted and let go of her hands so he could lift her up and around to face him directly, privately reveling in the feel of her legs on either side of his again. Taking her face between his palms, he forced her to meet his eyes. She was trying to stare down, at the knotted fingers she was twisting together. ::Look at me River,:: he said, and her eyes jerked up in surprise. “You’re an idiot. Words are walls and blood is the mortar,” and he dropped a hand to run it up the inside of her arm and alongside the cut there before pressing his own wound to hers. He could feel the blood rushing, throbbing in his veins in a precursor to the lightshow, and the pain of the cut was nothing on the fire that came from being near her. “Not going anywhere, even if you try and kill me.” He grinned. “You couldn’t take me anyways.”

She glared at him and sent a storm of images, all of them ways in which she could kill him. Just with the things here on the bridge. Then she rocked her hips against him and leaned forward to lay her mouth next to his ear. “You’d lose,” she whispered. It was both the right and the wrong thing to say in her position, and his arms locked around her and crushed her close before she could get out of the way, his head turning and his mouth catching hers as he squeezed the breath from her lungs. She replied by rocking forward again so that her damp center found his shaft and applied pressure. He groaned and dropped his hands, reaching for her hips. But she wouldn’t let him move her, locking her legs around the chair to keep herself in place. And then, just when he thought he’d gotten her loosened up enough to pull her back and then impale her, she laughed against his mouth. ::No sex on the bridge. The _hwoon dahn_ really might be a walking EMP. Does he truly wish to risk frying all of the computers?::

Riddick ripped himself away from her mouth with a snarl and gave her a look that, by all rights, should have incinerated her. “Fucking tease,” he growled, and started to stand, but she still had her legs locked to the chair and now her hands were off his skin and gripping the back of the seat. For a moment he considered out muscling her. It was entirely possible. But it set a precedent he didn’t like so he stayed put, still growling in frustration as he shoved his train of thought in her direction. Let her at least _know_ what he could do and wouldn’t.

She flinched just slightly, but grinned anyways. ::Need to finish setting course anyways. Have been drifting without power for a day and a half. Need to make true headway before we are found and assumed to be available for scavenging.::

He let her get up; enjoying the view she gave him of the lithe body, covered in blood and fluids as she was, and realized with a start that he was still covered in the reminders of the night and the morning as well. How had be missed that? The smell of dried blood should have been the first thing he noticed. Then River turned around and sat on his knees and he forgot about the blood. She laughed, out loud and in his head, and he decided suddenly that it was probably the best sound in the world. Second best. His name on her lips was the best. She laughed again and got him to help turn the chair to face the console again before going back to what she’d been doing. He watched her for a moment, feeling the calculations surface and fade in her head as she muttered and typed and flipped toggles. Her scent had gone back to apples and rain, sex and old blood underneath.

There was something off in her mind though, something like a gun with its sight just a hair out of place, or a badly weighted blade. He wasn’t sure how to figure it out yet in her head, even with his jaguar standing by him and watching curiously. This was all too new to be able to go poking around in her thoughts as easily as she seemed to go through his. So he sat forward, set his arms around her waist and along her thighs, and peered at the screens over her shoulder. She tilted her head just enough for him to see them clearly before hitting one last button and leaning back with a sigh. “River,” he asked, loading all his questions into the one word. She didn’t answer for a moment, and he could smell malt start to rise in the air. It was odd, smelling exhaustion when they’d just woken up from several hours’ sleep, but he didn’t want to comment on it just yet. “River, where are we goin?”

“Persephone,” she said finally, voice resigned. “At first. Skim the White Sun, duck through Georgia.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “You set a good course. Straight for Blue Sun and Haven. But Nav Sats can track and there were many interested in the bodies left on the skyplex. At our front door. Will have to lose them. Hopefully have, by drifting with no power.”

Riddick frowned and ran a hand up her arm. The name was familiar, but she’d never given him much more than a vague idea of where it was. The ease with which she spoke of it made his hackles go up. Her mind was blank to him, her scent full of something he could only label as apprehension. The irony of something smelling on her exactly as it smelled on others was lost on him as he listened to her heartbeat rise slightly. “Fuck,” he growled. “You were leaving.” Rage built, overflowed, and built again. It was all he could do to stay in his seat, and he clung to the armrests and felt them crack under the grip he _refused_ to transfer to River. He couldn’t tell through the red haze if he was mad at her for planning it or himself for driving her to it. His animal was back in its tree, laughing at the man as he tried to reach it.

River was up and facing him before he knew what was happening; arms crossed over her chest and glaring bloody murder down at him. It was a measure of how far gone he was that the sight of her naked body did nothing to cut through the hurt and anger coursing through his veins. The light in the cabin was starting to shift and he knew the handprint had lit up again. He cursed; growling out unintelligible words as he anchored himself to the chair so he wouldn’t stand and fucking shake this girl to pieces.

She kicked him in the shin. “ _Fuh ur-tze_ ,” she yelled. “What should she have done? _Shee-niou_!” And she kicked him again. “Stayed where she wasn’t truly wanted?” She was snarling now, words he couldn’t have understood even if he’d tried, and he realized after a moment that while her lips were pulled back over her teeth, her mouth as a whole wasn’t moving.

Steel cut through his rage like fire as her own swell of anger and hurt washed over him. His animal growled and dropped down onto the man, pinning him and setting its teeth over his throat. He took a deep breath, felt the pain in his leg where she’d undoubtedly left a bruise, and tried to sort out which emotion belonged to which personality. The lights died down, and then the handprint was just a bare ghost of a reminder of the unreasoning animal rage that had gripped him. He was still pissed. Incredibly so, but he had to admit that it was mostly at himself. She was right. He’d refused her. And just as he’d been trying to figure out how manage the rest of the trip while stuck in the ship with her, the same thoughts must have been going through her head. Except she’d had an out. The rage built again, but he tamped it down. It wasn’t going to help anything. How could he really blame her for having decided to take the opportunity to leave? To get away from him and everything he’d represented?

Groaning, he pried his fingers from the armrests and dragged them over his face. Fuck it all anyways, why was he angry in the first place? She was his now. And he was hers. “What would you have done,” he asked, it being the only thing he could piece together as a sentence for the moment. There was still freshly sharpened steel in the air, and her heart was thudding in her chest in time with his own. But he could feel her in his mind, poking and prodding at the thoughts he was letting surface and slowly, inch by inch, the tension was starting to drain from her body. She looked more defensive now than angry, but he could deal with that. Just so long as she wasn’t kicking him anymore.

“Uncle would have work for her. She is very good at what she does. He has been offering side jobs for years.” She shrugged and looked down at her feet, still bandaged; he made a mental note to be sure they got rewrapped soon. They were filthy. “Or could find another ship. Eavesdown Docks full of them, many don’t check papers. She is good crew.”

Riddick snorted and put the last of the pieces together in his mind. The man was well and truly pissed at the result. He wondered for a moment why it wasn’t the jaguar, the animal instinct that tended to drive his more powerful emotions, that wasn’t ready to tear things apart while the man sat back and watched the show. Then he realized; the animal knew. Her blood and his. The mortar in a wall that surrounded them and could shut out all others. Even her crew. And she’d made her choice last night, given him words of his own to help with his half of the fortress. The current set words still needed to be said though, because it was an issue that needed to be dealt with eventually. Neither would be able to run from it forever. “And maybe find your crew, your ship,” he rumbled as he tipped his head up to meet her eyes. The glow of the screens around him, not so bad earlier, was starting to burn his eyes. But he wasn’t about to shield them as he waited for her answer.

She shrugged and looked uncomfortable. It was the first time he’d ever seen her try and avoid something, and he nearly laughed at the expression on her face. The steel had faded from her scent, leaving a confused mess behind, and a careful poke at her mind only earned him a flinch and a glare. He scowled and crossed his arms. Finally, shifting from foot to foot, she nodded. “Or find _Serenity_. She wasn’t sure. Just…” She shrugged again and sighed, breathing apples and rain and wet earth in his direction. “Went to ask Kyra,” she whispered when he didn’t say anything, and hunched her shoulders.

And there it was. Or she rather. River was still determined to find a resting place for his self-proclaimed sister; and to tell the truth he didn’t want to just dump her either. The guilt wasn’t quite as bad, but she’d still trusted him. Come looking for him. Landed herself in Crematoria and died because of him. Of all the people who’d ever latched onto him, she’d been the most tenacious. Worse than Caroline. Worse even than River, who’d spent so much of her time trying to get rid of him and who had very nearly fooled them both into giving up.

Riddick sighed and reached for her, taking a hand and pulling her forward until she either had to sit back down or fall. She resisted for a moment before perching on one of his knees and crossing her arms again. He cocked an eyebrow at her and laughed. ::Still looking for a fight.::

River glowered at him before turning to look out the forward viewport at the stars that stretched through the sky around them. “There is an eighty seven point three percent chance that _Serenity_ will be docking on Persephone in the next three days.”

“And how long will it take us to get there?”

She shrugged and he could feel the calculations run through her mind and back out, faster than he could catch or even identify them. Her eyes tracked back and forth as she read them, and her scent settled further into the apples and rain, only a touch of wet earth now. Some mint too. In the part of his mind still his own Riddick sighed. She was looking forward to seeing her family just as much as she feared how they’d see her. Odd that she wasn’t worried about what they thought of him. He let that drift to the surface, just to see if she caught it. His animal, back in its tree now that the excitement was over, just laid its head on huge paws as the man leaned back to observe.

Calculations complete, River turned to look back at him. “At current speeds, four days, ten hours, twenty minutes. Depending on angle of reentry, traffic around the planet, and weather. At full burn, could make it in two days, four hours. However, that would cut dangerously into fuel supplies. If for some reason sudden departure was needed or landing could not be achieved we would be, as some say, up shit creek.” She ignored Riddick’s bark of laughter and continued. “Besides, it is only a _chance_ that Captain Daddy would be there. Only a chance he’d stay long enough for them to arrive. She can feel him; he hunts. He hates being dirtside.”

River’s eyes had glassed over and charcoal and fire rose in the air. Riddick growled at the change. He couldn’t feel anything from her mind. It was like she wasn’t even there. “She’s not,” the girl murmured, and he jerked in place, surprised. She tipped her head to one side, but her eyes weren’t seeing the bridge. “She flows with the river, listens. Hears. The Riddick’s thoughts are loudest because he is closest. Because they are bonded now. But she hears others. Millions. She hears the man on Lilac who lost his daughter to Reavers. The elder on Harvest as he lays dying and repenting; his name means ‘Sorry’ after all. The Alliance officer didn’t believe in Reavers till he brought a fresh ghost aboard and it started tearing the faces from his people. And her crew. Captain Daddy hunts. He plans. He will kill to get her back if need be, step over a hundred bodies, and let his hired gun loose with the knife if that’s what it takes to find the girl.”

Her scent swirled, fire building, lemons crisping around the edges; Riddick laid a hand on her leg and did his best to push as much calm at her as he could muster. She took a deep breath. “ _Ge ge_ counts vials and readies needles and prays she will not be insane when they find her, that she won’t be broken again. Does not want to,” and something of the lemons faded, to be replaced with cool water and steel. “Doesn’t want to say the words, but will if he has too. Woman with a stone heart cleans her gun and checks her shells. Will shoot if her Captain says so. To kill the girl if she is dangerous again.” River grinned suddenly and the charcoal and fire vanished as she looked down at him, meeting his eyes directly. “But if the River gets to her first, tells her not to shoot the _shiong-mung duh kwong-ru_ , she will argue the Captain down.” She leaned closer and set her forehead against his. ::They will still think she is crazy if they see her with the Riddick. Wonder if he holds her prisoner.:: She laughed and he tilted his head in unspoken question. ::She will have to convince them that she has merely found a new kind of pet.::

“Right,” he grumbled. “Pet.” That tore it. Standing, he threw the girl over his shoulder and stalked out of the room, ignoring the shrieks of surprise and the knees in his ribcage as he headed down the hall and towards the shower. He nearly hit her head on the upper sill of the hatch in his haste as he ducked inside, practically threw her into the shower and followed her in to show her exactly what sort of _pet_ she’d found. The rough treatment earned him a couple of fresh bruises, but seeing as they came from her teeth, he really wasn’t going to complain.

 

~HHYFN~

 

 **Author** **’s Note:** NOT MINE! I don’t own them. Whedon and Twohy and the Wheat brothers, heck, even Vin Diesel has more rights to these characters than I do. But Vin’s all caught up in fast cars and getting Letty back at the moment, I don’t think he’ll notice what I’m doing till September at least. Right? Hah!

 

Soooo. Did it turn out like you expected? Myself, I think the first couple paragraphs were the most fun I had writing in the story so far. Don’t expect the tension between the two to go away though. Now that they’re not resisting each other, it’s going to be more about learning how they fit together, how they will handle this new dynamic of the minds. Pay attention to the animal, the tree, all the stuff in their heads. The quasi-character status they’ve had up till now has just been upgraded, and I’m essentially going to be juggling seven different personalities, just with Riddick and River. Can you see why I haven’t brought the crew in so far? TOO MANY VOICES!

 

As always, love feedback, love to hear what you think. Constructive criticism, the whole nine yards.

 

Translations:

 _hwoon dahn:_ Bastard

 _Fuh ur-tze:_ _Son of a drooling whore and a monkey._

 _Shee-niou:_ Shit urine

 _shiong-mung duh kwong-ru_ : Violent lunatic

 

Bridge: Control center, command center, etc Place you drive the ship from.

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. **_Fiery death!_**


	14. 14

Ch. 14

 

_I've got a monster to please_

_It says to dance with me_

_Pppplease violent dancer drag yourself to the floor_

_And don't stop swinging till we break down the doors_

“Violent Dancer”, Project 86

 

 

It was only when he thought she was well and truly chastised that he let her come up for air. In a figurative way that is. She didn’t complain, and if anything he was starting to think she was prodding him for a reaction every time he thought she’d learned her lesson. From the shower, which had turned off halfway through and again before they could truly get soaped and rinsed, to infirmary, where it took four times as long to get bandages changed as it really should have; and then to his bunk, where the decision was made to just build a nest on the floor because they fell off the bed and neither of them could be bothered to climb back up. It was too small anyways. Finally they ended up in the galley, and the dishes in the cupboards fairly rattled as she shrieked his name out loud and in his head and he roared hers back.

They needed another shower, but it could wait, so they used damp towels to clean each other off and if River’s legs hadn’t been shaking and exhaustion dripping from every pore, they might have needed to clean the table off as well as the counter. He stepped firmly on his libido and mock growled at her when she giggled at him for the use of the word. Hours had passed as they came together, drifted, woke and came again. Thankfully there hadn’t been any alarms from the bridge, and he decided to just be happy to have time to sit and maybe eat before she either did something else that needed punishing or Murphy’s law decided to kick in. Frankly, he hoped she’d try and provoke him again. She was limping as she walked, but he had a goal in mind and didn’t plan to let up until he’d reached it.

River bared her teeth at him and pulled a kitchen knife from a drawer. ::Just try,:: she growled, and he nearly reached for her again, except the way she was waving the knife made him slightly wary. ::The girl is _hungry_. And the Riddick had best eat something too.:: She grinned as she reached over to stab an apple out of the bowel sitting in the center of the table. ::Or he’ll fall over and she’ll win::

Riddick growled, for real this time, and hauled her over to sit in a nearby chair as he reached for an apple of his own. She was already slicing pieces out of hers, and didn’t complain at the rough treatment beyond another warning wave of her knife. He would have gone to find one for himself, but she was right. His legs were getting shaky. And there was something more than a little arousing about watching her pick the slices off the blade with her teeth. He had the apple halfway to his mouth before her hand intercepted it. “Don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Make up your mind girl. Food or no food.”

She handed him the knife instead. “Griswalds. Pressure bombs.” Her scent wasn’t giving off any of her usual signals of worry, but he could catch hints of wet earth under all the apples and rain and sex. It intrigued him, to be frank. Girl was still full of surprises.

He took the knife and sliced the apple in half as she watched, but kept it when she would have taken it back. ::There’s a story behind this, isn’t there?::

She gave up on trying to retrieve the blade, setting the apple aside and pulling her knees up to her chest. “Yes. It is the Captain’s story. And Zoe’s. The girl honors it. Remembers Wash too, for his jealously and bluster.”

Riddick raised an eyebrow. “Smooth girl. Very nicely done. Only took about a month to get around to it.” Kicking another chair over to face her across the table, he finished off one half of the apple and flicked a seed at her. “So why don’t you start at the beginning?”

She ducked the seed and glared at him, doing a mental tally of how many days, hours and minutes it had been since she’d woken out of cryo and tried to kill him. He ignored her. If she thought now was the time to spill her life story, at least it was better than some he could think of. There were plenty of bits and pieces she’d let drop along the way and he’d built a fair picture of what had happened to make her crazy in the first place. Truth to tell the curiosity had nearly eaten him alive a couple times; but first she’d been infuriating, then there had been madmen trying to eat him, and then she was barely speaking to him except to drill him in things to do with the ship. Besides, she still hadn’t commented on the eyes and he’d never met someone who could go so long without making at least one remark.

She wrinkled her nose at him and sneered when she caught the thought, and he laughed at her in his mind. And then ducked as she chucked the half eaten apple at his head. “Hey,” he barked, and she laughed and snatched the bowl away before he could get to it. Shrugging, he stood, hopped up on the table and half knelt to pick her up by the shoulders. “Just for that…” he growled in her ear and brushed his lips down her neck. She shivered and vanilla bloomed. “You’re gonna have to wait.” And he dumped her back in the chair before settling his bulk on the edge of the table and letting his legs dangle over the edge.

She pinched him in the thigh, but relented. “It is long, but most of it is needful to know. Whether the girl ever sees her family again or not, he should know where she came from.” She pinched him again in a far more sensitive place and he swatted at her on principle. “She will be gentler than he was when he threw his history at her,” and she wrinkled her nose again when he grunted at the memory. “Will use actual words, and fill in gaps around them.”

She was right. It was long. They’d gone through half the bowl of apples and started water for some of the pre-packaged meals, then eaten those and most of the bag of oranges before she’d finished. She put her words together like some of the professional storytellers he’d heard and layered mental images over the top to flesh things out. It gave him a fair picture not only of her ship and its crew, but of the workings of this corner of the galaxy as well. The central government was going to be a bitch to get around, but he’d spent his life on the run from the Company, and aside from a few quirks it didn’t seem all that different. She actually didn’t know much about the prisons, which made sense .The mercs in these systems seemed tamer, and there weren’t any slam planets like he’d known. They valued their livable rocks here too much to convert them into holding grounds for murderers and thieves. And the ones humans couldn’t survive on were mostly the result of terraforming disasters. No money in that either.

Her crew though, reminded him of some of the units he’d fought with while he was still in the Company. They hadn’t all been fucked up dicks ready to leave a man to die in the tunnels, and when he’d had good partners who did their jobs, things had actually worked; at least until someone died and he had to break in a new one. Toss in a bit of the psycho family that had formed on T-2 for flavor, and he figured that while he might still kill them all in their sleep, he it was possible that he’d be able to let them live long enough to prove they weren’t going to chain River up and stuff her full of drugs again.

That, not the apple bombs or almost being burned at the stake or even the merc who’d snuck aboard her ship, had been the part that transfixed him. There had been a point after the broadwave where she had realized that while the secret was out, the pea gone from the mattresses, she was still going to have episodes of sheer lunacy. Some things would still overwhelm her, and although she said that she’d never done any more random cutting on her crew, they still stepped carefully around her. And she in return was careful around them, trying to prove her sanity and ability to function. She left out details there, both in her head and in her words, and it was one point he didn’t want to press her on, despite the faint traces of lemons and bitter herbs on her skin. He wanted to hurt someone though, and he wasn’t sure if it was her crew for inadvertently making it harder for her or the people who’d done this to her in the first place. He figured he’d see who he ran into first and take his pound of flesh then.

Somehow she’d come to realize that the meds her brother had her on before Miranda had been helping with her “pea” and now that it was gone they were affecting her ability to regain equilibrium. She and her crew had tipped the scales on the government and all sorts of shit was crawling out of the woodwork. It had meant more work for them in the long run, as the military had lost its iron grip on the shipping lanes and had to pay more attention to bombs and break-ins at their bases. But it also meant that she had trouble with her ability to lock herself down in the here and now and not lose herself in the turmoil of the river. People everywhere were panicking, the border settlers about the Alliance trying to fix them, city dwellers looking for agents under their beds, and the authorizes afraid they’d lose their grip and the Independence movement would get strong enough to be a real threat again. The drugs, having blocked the horror of what had been in her head, had somehow left other channels open and affected her ability to block turmoil instead. He got the impression of many arguments, both with her brother and the captain, an infirmary full of smashed vials and broken syringes and a refusal to eat or speak or pilot until they stopped waving their arms and listened. He was skeptical, and gave her a look that asked why they didn’t think she was even crazier after that.

She bit her lip and looked away ::May have stolen one of the shuttles then. Ran to a friend who hid her till she detoxed.:: And that was all she’d said on the subject, no matter how he poked, prodded, threatened, or bribed. She was immovable, and even walled her head off to him completely; steel rising in the air until he could have sworn it was what she was made of. She laid a hand on his just as he crossed from annoyed to truly pissed and leaned over to meet his eyes. ::Might meet this friend one day. She never told the crew, they thought she hid by herself somewhere. They know him. Would kill him, even as he pays his penance. She will not betray his trust, for he exposed himself to more than her crew’s wrath for what he did.:: And she moved on with her story, leaving him to sort the statement out on his own.

It went fairly quickly from there. She’d returned to her crew calmer, saner, better able to control her abilities; and spent the next few years proving herself to them, over and over. Jobs tended to go better, she and the mechanic working in tandem could make the ship dance if need be, and they didn’t have as many brushes with starvation. She’d realized early on that mediation and calm helped, and her family had learned to leave her be when locked in her bunk. She still threw things when angry, and he had a sudden feeling of sympathy with the crew for how they’d been subjected to her temper. Even mostly sane, visions of darkened coring rooms and nests of scorpions occasionally danced through his head. He was, at the moment, very glad she was naked and the knife they’d been using on the apples cleaned and put back. She glared, and he scowled back, then barked in surprise as she poked him in the collarbone ::The Riddick has a temper of his own. Her bones hurt when he can’t decide if he’s going to crush her or not::

He snorted. ::Keep poking me like that and I’ll make a decision real quick:: They both knew he was full of shit, but appearances had to be kept, if even in their own minds. She rolled her eyes and settled into his side. At some point in the conversation she’d come to perch next to him on the edge of the table. “So,” he reached for another apple, twisted it in half and gave her part of it before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You got better, got off the meds, so on…”

She shrugged and swallowed her bite before answering. “Worked. Flew. Blue Sun put out another bounty. But they are private sector, or so people think. Knew she was still being hunted, but without public arrest warrants did not know how closely she was being followed. Can only pull so many tricks to mask a trail when the crew still needs to work.” She frowned and took another bite ::They don’t want _ge ge_ though, so that is good. Mercs snuck aboard while she was off ship and overwhelmed with the noise of crowds in town. Planted explosives, set an ambush. Got her to hold still long enough to put her down.:: Steel laced anger rippled through her again, and she clenched her fists. ::Could have killed them. At least those closest. Before she slept that is. But they had the little one too, and the Kaylee, and neither knows which end of a gun the safety is on. Captain Daddy and the mother and the man with a girl’s name were needed to get them free, and if she’d fought they may have died.:: She looked up and shrugged. ::Better to wait till the tranqs wore off and teach them their lessons then.::

He laughed and pulled her a little closer. “Bloodthirsty. “

“Didn’t think of cryo. It is expensive, not common. Was more focused on reading their present intentions than their long term plans.” Her skin twitched under his hand. “She hates it. Sleep without sleep, dying without death. Can hear voices in her head, but they twist themselves into dreams and become monsters. Leads to screaming and fighting when she wakes.”

Riddick snorted. “Hate it myself. Lost my mind a couple times before I learned how to deal.”

“Animal side to the fore. Mind awake and moving while the body is stuck mostly immobile. Learned to move as he wanted eventually, man steps aside and instinct awakes.”

He grunted and stood. “Sums it up. Come on.”

She took his hand and let him pull her out of the galley and down the hall towards the bunks. “What is he planning?” Curiosity, anticipation, and a certain sort of wariness teased around the edges of his mind; and he discovered that he liked still being able to surprise her. She was still doing it to him, making him work to keep up with the turnings of her inner mind and turnabout was fair play after all.

“Said you had an Uncle who could give you work. Figure we muddy the trail. Take advantage of all the shit that seems to be headed in one direction.” He bypassed her bunk. The doorpad was smashed beyond all repair and he wasn’t going to bet money on it ever working again.

River gave it a look as they went by, then gave him the _look_. “The trained ape man is far too satisfied with himself over this plan. She has told you, only a chance that Captain Daddy will land on Persephone in time,” her eyes glazed over and she went slack against his grip as charcoal and fire surrounded them. “In fact, he is already there. Cannot make him stay long enough to be useful.”

Riddick mulled the wrinkle over as he boosted her up into the air vents. When she turned to look back at him, face expectant, he laughed. “Really want to do that up there? Thought you needed a break.”

Her face turned colors, but she threw him an assortment of mental images that proved she didn’t really care where he decided to take her, so long as there was no danger to life or limb involved. Her voice was serious though. “Will need help to get things out of room. Someone broke the door. May as well get everything instead of continuing to crawl through vents.” And then she was gone, leaving vanilla and slight scuffling noises in her wake. Riddick sighed, cracked his neck, and pulled himself up into the vent. And frowned. How had she gotten through so fast?

He never did find out, but she did find him. Ambushed him was more like. One minute he was lowering himself into her bunk, searching for her with mind and ears since her scent was everywhere. Next thing he knew a hand had wrapped around his dick and then there was a _mouth_ and it took every bit of self-control he had to not lose his grip and fall flat on his back. ::River…:: he warned, knowing he sounded more than a little frantic. ::Get out of the way or we’re both going to end up with something broken::

She ignored him, giggling into his mind instead. He wondered briefly how long she’d been waiting to get the drop on him like this, but as her tongue flickered over his head again he decided that he really didn’t care. He was losing the ability to control his arms though, and directed a last panicked vision of her getting crushed beneath him as warning before he dropped to the floor. River let go and scrambled backwards just long enough to let him land before dropping to sweep a leg around to catch him in the back of the knees and knock him to the deck. His head bounced, stars flashed in front of his eyes, and he didn’t really care. Because she was there, crawling up his body, touching, teasing. Driving him out of his mind as she kept herself just out of his reach. Vanilla and silk filled the air and her joy sang through his head and when she finally lowered herself onto him, pinned his shoulders down with her hands and proceeded to show him the finer points of torture, he discovered that time actually could slow down and stop for something other than cryo.

 

~HHYFN~

 

River shook and trembled and tried to shove the smell of lemons out of her head. He was right. It was a bad smell. The scent she’d always associated with cleanliness and order would be forever tainted. She vowed that any cleaning supplies she ever stocked, whether they returned to the _Hunter_ or ended up on _Serenity_ , none of them would _ever_ be lemon scented. Nervously she tugged at a sleeve and shifted from foot to foot. They were about half healed, new skin over the scrapes, ankles no longer as tender, but still sore. She was still regrowing a couple toenails. That had almost been the most painful part of the whole experience, walking in boots with open wounds where the nails should have been. She was barefoot now, except for the last of the bandages, and it was the only part of her state of dress she could approve of. Strange how comforting nakedness could be.

::River:: Even in her mind his voice rumbled, and she let herself melt into the sound as she laid an ear to his chest to feel his breath vibrate through her bones. His arms were around her shoulders, fingers working their way through her hair and up to her skull to knead at the knots forming there and around the base of her neck. She bit back a moan of pleasure and a little bit of the overpowering lemon stink evaporated into the warm vanilla rising off her body. He was hard against her and she wondered briefly if he would ever _not_ be ready for her. He caught the thought as it flitted through her mind and she couldn’t bring herself to care when he laughed at it. She did manage to keep the next one to herself though. Statistics on lions. No need to feed his ego. It was big enough already.

::River,:: he poked at her again and she could feel the man and the jaguar both watching her intently. Looking for weaknesses. At the moment, she had many.

“She knows,” she murmured against his chest as she felt strong arms wrap around her and lift. He set her down on top of the tiny dresser, and she used the added height to bury her face in his neck instead. His hands came down to stettle around her hips and she fought down the urge to claw him closer, attack that warm skin that tasted like salt and heat and pull it all into herself. She still had to even the tally. Ambushing him as he dropped out of the ceiling had only made up for him pinning her in the shower; landing on the floor of his bunk instead of staying in his bed and the sneak attack that had resulted in her seated on a countertop in the galley still needed to be repaid. She had a goal too, and she was hiding it better than him. Walk funny indeed!

She clung when he tried to pull away, knowing her heart was racing with more than lust even though the jaguar was transmitting vanilla to her brain along with the spicy musk he hadn’t figured out yet. She knew where it came from. It pleased her that he’d never smelt it before. He knew leather and blood and the rest of his own scents. And he ignored them. They were his after all. But she had made the spice and musk and warm fur come to the forefront and she was so very loathe to leave its presence.

Grumbling to herself as he pried her arms from his neck, she latched onto the jaguar in his mind and clung to it instead. He grunted faintly and let her be in his head as he wouldn’t in the physical plane. Pinning her hands in one of his, he used the other to force her chin up. “River,” he rumbled a third time, and this time she tried to lose herself in the sound of her name on his tongue. It really was wondrous, at any volume. For pretty much any reason. She thanked Book’s faulty God that he’d finally relented and stopped calling her “girl” in his mind all the time. And out loud. “You’re stalling,” he said, breaking into her train of thought.

He was right. Even without being able to feel the turmoil of her mind, he would have known. _Niou fun_ , even Jayne would have been able to tell she was stalling. What had been only mildly disturbing earlier, wrapped in each other as they were, was much more terrifying now. She was about to set in motion a chain of events that would have one of two outcomes. Either her family would take her back, or they would try to drag her back. She feared both results. If they accepted her back with open arms, what would they think of Riddick? What conditions would they try to lay down? He shouldn’t be chained, shouldn’t be held to anyone’s standards of behavior but his own. And if they tried to take her back by force it would only end in blood. She’d run once. They’d be prepared for the possibility. Possibilities rather. Either they’d find her sane or they wouldn’t, but she could feel them from here. It was worst case scenario time. They were ready for the catastrophic, and her brother most of all. Clip the wings, caged birds don’t sing.

She wondered if she would be able to keep them from dying. The weapon told her that it may be needful to let it happen, let her river of blades rise and sing around the jaguar and leave no chance that any of them could come for her again. But the girl remembered playing jacks with Kaylee, the dinosaurs that still spoke in whispers, dressing up with Inara and going to see plays and shows that no other member of the crew, aside from maybe Simon, would appreciate. To not hear the sounds of the new guitar, or to watch Zoe try and teach Sierra the basics of cooking with protein? How could she cut all those threads that had run through her and helped her stitch herself back together? How could she ask her jaguar to not kill them all when they both knew-

His lips covered hers and she realized she hadn’t been walling the thoughts off as she should have. She hadn’t meant for him to catch all that. Hadn’t meant to show her doubts so openly. Was she truly his match? The cut on her arm burned. They’d cleaned the matching gashes off but left them open to the air. The wound wasn’t especially deep but it wasn’t shallow either, as knife wounds went, and it served as a reminder of their promise. But now she couldn’t breathe and she was being pulled back so he could look her in the eyes; his frustration at not being able to cut through the doubts warring with anger at everything that had ever caused them. She closed her eyes and breathed deep as he pressed his palms to either side of her face.

“Listen River. You don’t want to kill, fine. But if they think they’re going to lock you up and call you crazy for being you, they have another thing coming. And if one of them so much as blinks wrong…” he left off with the words and showered her mind with visuals. She wanted to cry, but that required breath and he was currently stealing hers, the lips at each eyelid and against her forehead radiating calm and purpose. “Now,” he rumbled in her ear as he took her legs and wrapped them a little tighter around that big barrel chest. “You have a call to make. And remember,” he was lifting her now, one arm around her waist, another under her _pi gu_ as he left the bunk and headed for the bridge. “We can always turn this heap around and head back to Helion. People are actually scared of me there.”

It worked. She mustered up a laugh as he dumped her in the pilot’s seat and wiped at her eyes with shaky hands as she gave him a gentle kick in the knee. “ _Hwoon dahn_ is scary here. Is only the girl who doesn’t want to run screaming.”

But something in her had settled. If he was willing to go back to his home systems, to the bounty on his head and the possibility of the Painwalkers finding him and making him take the throne again, she could be willing to face her fears. After all, he was her match and she was his. She gave him another nudge with her foot and a mental command to get himself out of sight of the Cortex before spinning the chair around and firing up the long-range wave. He obeyed, leaning against the wall just outside the hatch where he could hear but the cams couldn’t see him. She took an extra moment to wrap her mind a little more firmly around his, and felt his jaguar give a rumbling purr as it curled up around her. One more breath, a pause, and she flipped the switch to send the call.

 

                ~HHYFN~

 

**Author’s Note:** Sooo…answer a few questions? We are moving forward, I really do promise that. But this turned from a sex-a-thon to exposition to hey, more angst! Not what I intended at all in the first place when I wrote this. It wasn’t going to be nearly so wordy. But here we are; many words later! I actually kind of love this chapter now, mainly because the whole crawling through the vents and ambush and then their talk in the bunk vanished from my computer for about two or three weeks. Or so I thought. I’ve been trying to scrape together pieces of these scenes in my head for a while now, but then I discovered one of my first draft files had a complete copy of the chap. Yay joy! The things in the back half lay some foundations for later events, and I am really, REALLY glad not to have to rewrite.

 

On question, how are these chapter headers (the song quotes) working for people? I like to do them, but I’m also biased. Just curious, cause I’m trying to set a theme and give hints with them. Hmm… XD

 

That being said, none of these characters, places, etc. are mine. I wish. I do. But no. Whedon, Twohy, the Wheat brothers, Universal pictures, heck Vin himself all have more rights to them than my. Dangit.

 

Translations:

_ge ge-_ big brother

_Niou fun-_ cow shit

_Hwoon dahn-_ bastard

Cool water-calm, battle state

Sour fruit- drugs burning out of system

Citrus-fear/terror

Rain/apples- base scent

Charcoal-tipping off edge of sanity

Silk- joy, exaltation

Wet earth- sadness

Warm vanilla-arousal

Steel, the smell of a good blade freshly honed.-anger

Witchhazel-mindless killing, when she's a river of blades

Mint- anticipation

Simon's cooking-disgust

Malt-exhaustion

Bitter herb-hurt, emotional

Charcoal and fire-she is in the river, listening

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. **Fiery death!**

 


	15. 15

Ch. 15

 

 

_I don't mean to, to alarm you_

_Can't you see now, it overtakes you_

_You're declining, disintegrating_

_You're gonna lose it all_

_This time you're wasting_

"Release the Panic" Red

 

 

The squawk and yell on the other end of the Cortex were fairly predictable reactions, if she did say so herself. River still couldn’t help it, she laughed. Even through the doubt and fear that still hovered in the back of her mind, the sight of Badger falling out of his chair and dumping his whiskey all over the place was strangely satisfying. Behind her she could feel Riddick’s curiosity and humor as she showed him the picture of what was going on. A balding head appeared over the edge of the desk, bowler hat askew and eyes wide. “River,” the man breathed. “That really you?”

She laughed again and waggled her fingers at him. “Right it tis luv,” she said, and felt Riddick’s mind go solid and impenetrable as he flinched away from the personality she’d chosen for the moment. No matter, she’d be herself soon. “How’s business?”

Badger was still climbing back into his chair, and she saw him reach to rescue what was left of the whiskey bottle. He was white as a sheet and sweating and she was suddenly very glad that she wasn’t actually standing in front of him. His hole smelled bad enough as it was, with Riddick feeding his senses to her it would probably be unbearable. “Well now, don’t rightly know,” the man muttered once he’d taken a long drag off the bottle. “Got this crazy smuggler see, thinks he’s better than me, stick up his _pi gu_ like ‘e was born wit’ it up there. Tramping all _over_ my business and making a right mess of things.” Badger slammed the bottle down on the desk and glared. “Where the hell you been little girl? You know Reynolds’ been combing the bloody ‘Verse looking for you? Gonna drag the Alliance down on us all!”

River snorted and sat back, abandoning the Deyton colony accent. “Drifting in a cryo box tends to keep one from being able to contact her crew,” she leaned forward and tapped the cam lens. “Or did you not look at the ID of the ship that just waved you? An old customer after all.”

Riddick, relaxing now that she’d dropped the act, went stiff with fury. She sent him a mental wave of calm along with a picture of a cat with a ball of string. She knew what she was doing; he had to trust her on this. The fact that she was clinging to the jaguar as the source of her own grip on sanity had nothing to do with it. Nope, not a thing. He knew better too, but let her sooth the animal and keep control of the encounter as best she could.

In her moment of distraction, Badger had taken a closer look at his Cortex and gone a nice shade of pea soup green. She laughed again and sat forward to brace her arms on the console. “Now, Uncle, breathe.”

He tried. He really did. But even from this far away she could tell he was having visions of what she or her Captain were going to do to him when they got in shooting distance. This was no good. A Badger paralyzed with fear tended to get nasty, and that’s not what she needed. As much as she liked watching him squirm, she had things to do before her façade crumbled completely. “Badger,” she said in her sweetest voice, with the smile to make. “You’re turning colors.”

“ _Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh ur-tze_ ,” he finally managed to get out. “River luv, if I’d a’ known…”

She traced a finger over the screen, following his nose as he jerked and quivered and tried to figure out how far he could get before he was caught. Screwing Captain Reynolds over in a business deal was one thing, but _Sargent_ Reynolds was an entirely different animal. A trigger happy one at that. And lately he’d been seeing more and more of the Sargent. River shook her head in mock sadness. “Water under the bridge. She knows he didn’t know. But,” she waggled a finger at him and felt Riddick’s approval radiating from the hatch, “she is back in populated space now. Needs work. Has work. Even trade. She’ll even throw in a slightly used cry box.” River sat back and examined her fingernails. They were getting long. She was going to have to trim them soon. She didn’t think that Riddick, as much as he loved her hands all over him, would appreciate furrows being dug into his back when it could be avoided. He chuckled in her mind and told her no, he wouldn’t mind. So long as he didn’t need stitches afterward. She snorted and refused to promise anything on that score before turning back to Badger, who seemed to have gathered himself a bit. “Don’t,” she warned, and he froze midreach. “If you do, there will be no forgiveness.”

“River, ya have any idea how _long_ they have been look’n for you? Months!” She could see the man now, under the Badger’s mask. The one who told her stories of his home world, of the family he had left after the Alliance made it too hard to find work on his home planet. The one who’d lost his wife and child during the war and sworn never to get attached again. Built himself a hill to be crowned king on, set down roots, a fixture in the game now. Especially since he’d survived the purge of Serenity’s contacts just prior to the Miranda wave. “Girl, yeh’ve got ta tell them, and if you don’t I will!” He reached again, and River wished she was there to slap his hand away.

“No!” It was meant as an angry shout and came out more of a plea. Badger stilled, and stared at her. “No,” she said again, up now, both hands touching the screen. She was losing to the fear and it was starting to show. She could hear Riddick growling in the hatch, and knew that he’d be stepping out of cover soon. “Please, Badger. Listen! She will call them. She will. Needs your help though.” River managed to make herself sit back down in the pilot’s chair and took a deep breath. “That’s the job you see. Needs them to carry cargo. She wants to surprise them.”

Badger opened his mouth, but a scuffling noise beyond the camera’s range of vision cut the thought off before he could fully form it. Scowling and looking very like his namesake, he glared at the camera “You have the worst rutt’n timing girl. Ya know that? Gonna owe me big for this. “And with that he dropped a cloth over the cam and was gone, yelling for his lackeys to let the visitors in.

She could hear muffled voices through the darkened screen, and her mind froze. Those voices were beyond familiar. River reached for the armrests of the chair and clung as she listened to the bickering that always started out a deal with Badger. Riddick came through the hatch behind her, rumbling deep in his chest, and she drank in the calm that was his mind like a dying man who’d found life and safety. One large hand came down on her head, and she tipped it back so that she could see his face. He was frowning, pushing questions at her that she didn’t know if she had the answers for. Mutely she shook her head, and turned her attention back to the Cortex ::Did not know. Was so focused on keeping sane, on the words she needed…Lost track of the crew.::

“Look, Reynolds,” Badger had moved back into range of the mike. “Ya want a job, fine. Got a few. But none out in Red Sun. And _‘specially_ none near the skyplex ya hear?”

“Always work Badger, all over the ‘Verse.”

River started to shake.

“May be so, but I’m not intr’sted in losing profits. You go to the skyplex Reynolds. An’ if ya make it back, tell me how it looks like someone kicked ov’r an anthill in that part o’ space. Be terribly interested to see if you managed ta get yourself and your crew killed.”

A mutter in the background was Jayne’s voice, and she reached with her mind to find predictable thoughts. Needed work to keep the ship fueled to keep the hunt for the crazy girl goi’n. He wasn’t liking the sound of the reports out of Red Sun, especially not the description of the big guy River’d been sighted with. It was, in its way, a relief to know that Jayne was still Jayne. Not much truly phased him until it was his _pi gu_ or his cut of a job on the line.

“See,” Badger was saying. “At least one o’ ya has some sense.”

A click: a gun cocking. A sliding ratchet: Zoe’s mare’s leg. There was an answering chorus of similar noises as the Badger’s men drew their own weapons. He must have waved them off though, because there were any shots fired. “Now you listen here,” Captain Daddy was growling. She knew that tone. It was the tone that he only used right before doing something truly muleheaded. “You’re alive right now cause the ‘Tross likes you. Myself, think’n it’s more than proof something ain’t right in her, but we all got our quirks.”

The cloth on the cam was jostled as something, probably Badger, got shoved across the desk. River dove out of her seat and around, bulling into Riddick in her haste to get out of sight range if Reynolds should notice. She hunched over, panting and trying to pull her mind together as Riddick laid an arm over her shoulder and turned her to face him. He was cool to her touch; the jaguar informed her that she was burning up, and not in a good way. Her heart was racing and she smelled of apprehension and mint. Breathing deep of leather and steel and spices, she focused her attention back on the Cortex.

“Now,” her Captain was saying. “We’re gonna make a run out ta Red Sun. You got work for us when we come back this way, _fine_. But you’d best stay out of my way otherwise, or I don’t care how many guns you got, I’ll blow this place wide open.” The gun was holstered, and she could feel the resolve in his mind, the resignation in Zoe’s and Jayne’s anticipation of finally getting to place a few explosives in this hole and blow it all to kingdom come.

Badger was muttering, incomprehensible bits of Mandarin and English mixing in new and interesting ways. Another clatter, and a peek around the chair showed River that the Cortex screen on the Persephone end had landed on the floor. “Whatever you say Reynolds. Make that run. But I’m sitting pretty on a milk run worth a seven’y -five thousand, platinum,” River closed her eyes and grumbled inside her head. “Was going to offer it ta you, seeing as it’s about this time a’ year ya make that trip out ta Blue Sun.” River bit her lip to keep from cursing out loud and giving herself away as Riddick pushed curiosity in her direction. She shook her head at him and winced as she heard the guns come out of the holsters again and the minds of her crew scream bloody murder. Riddick wove a hand through her hair and growled quietly in response, and she leaned her forehead against his chest so she could feel it in her bones. The Captain was yelling at Badger, Jayne was grumbling about the potential loss of work, and Zoe was living up to her private nickname of Stone Woman With A Heart. River focused on breathing, on keeping herself from being swallowed in those minds as Badger haggled and cajoled them into coming back to Persephone to take the job. Suspicion was firing like hand grenades in her Captain’s mind, and Zoe’s too. But it was the biggest job they’d been offered in a month and a half and they needed the money. River wanted to shake Badger. And kiss him. But probably not hug him. He hadn’t washed that suit in a week.

And then they were gone. She followed them out of the warren with her mind before pulling her attention back to the present. She could hear Badger coming back around his desk, throwing the men out, and picking up the Cortex screen. She nudged Riddick to get him untangle his hand from her hair and then slipped back around the chair. Badger was snarling, nose bleeding and a large bruise forming along his jaw. “You owe me girl. You owe me _big_. Your Captain is a ruttin’ lunatic, you know that little girl? Ruttin’ lunatic and you’d better pray he makes it back from whatever damn fool thing he’s hell bent on this time.” He grabbed for a cloth to hold to his nose, probably the one that had been over the screen, and River bit back a sigh.

Riddick wondered at it, and at the treatment of the man sitting in the steel cave several thousand miles away, and she replied with a vision of a mother bear that thought her cubs were being taken. Then she overlaid her Captain and Badger in the picture and he rumbled in amusement. ::All sorts of interesting.:: She knew he wasn’t pleased by the analogy, but she was just grateful he wasn’t pushing his status as the bear in this case.

A muffled curse from Badger broke into her thoughts. “Bloody hell girl! Who’s that?”

Riddick just laughed as River buried her face in her hands and snarled to herself. ::Your ego is too big,:: she shot in his direction, and he laughed harder. On the screen, Badger was turning pale again. Sighing, River aimed a poke in the jaguar’s direction, and then said “This is the big _hwoon dahn_ that found the _Hound_ out in Reaver space.” It was truth, and she wasn’t planning on giving any more details. It didn’t matter. The little man turned purple, clamped a hand to his mouth, and dropped back into his chair. She waited.

He brayed.

Riddick was looking at her like she was some sort of bug, and she had to swallow her own laugh as she reached up to pat the arm he had laid over the back of the chair. ::He has won money today. His second-in-command made a bet with him years ago, when the girl first ran away.::

Riddick snorted and dropped his arm as he leaned forward to watch Badger try to get control of himself. ::All the people in this system as crazy as the ones we’ve met so far?::

She shrugged and grinned up at him. ::Captain Daddy has a talent.::

::I’ll say:: He crossed his arms and propped a hip on the edge of the console, bracing his feet against the base of the chair. His jaguar was amused, the man calculating the possible ways for this to get all sorts of fucked up. He was working on a mental tally of weaponry available on the ship, and some of the finer bits of the plan were getting reworked as they waited for Badger to finish laughing. ::This call gets done, need to find your crew again, take a read of them. Don’t know that I like having them come to the ship to pick up Kyra. Neutral ground.::

River turned over his new ideas in her head and nodded to herself. It was sound. If it went badly, their original plan of having the crew come to them was going to be a great hindrance in getting off planet without bloodshed and attention from the authorities. ::The girl knows a few places. One of them should work. Someplace the Badger man doesn’t hold sway.:: Speaking of Badger, she leaned forward and tapped a finger on the mike. “Uncle Baaaadger,” she sang, putting as much honeyed warning into her voice as she could muster. “Making a fool of yourself. Done mocking her yet?”

Badge mopped at his eyes, chuckled a couple more times, and blew out a long breath. “Sorry luv, weren’t mocking you. It’s just…” he trailed off into laughter again and she crossed her arms and fumed. This was getting old. Riddick agreed, but she was grateful for the fact he didn’t seem to want to say much at the moment. “Sorry. Sorry.” Badger coughed, and then pulled his face into a mask of seriousness. His lips were twitching, and humor danced in his eyes. “Scratch the money. For the look on Reynolds’ face, I’ll set this up without a cut.”

River snorted. “Business is business. You’ll get your piece o’ the pie,” she’d lapsed back into the Deyton accent, and her voice was full of scorn. It was always better to keep things on the level with Badger. “Thanks ever so for naming such a _go se_ price, by the way. T’was perfectly lovely.”

“Now River,” Badger shook a finger at her even as he grinned. “Know you’ll scrape it up somehow. And they’ll be expecting half up front.”

River snorted, but it was Riddick who replied, leaning over to stare at the man on the other end of the Cortex. “It’s settled then. We’ll contact you planetside to set up a meet.” And he slapped the call switch off before Badger could reply. River slumped over like a puppet with its strings cut, and he could feel the mix of emotions coming off of her like an ion storm over her skin. The jaguar was pacing, not happy with her changes in personality. The man was hoping he wasn’t going to have to kill a whole pile of people to make it off planet.

She felt his arms slide around her and relaxed into his hold as he picked her up and carried her out of the bridge. It was a bit difficult to tell where he was going, what with the darkness of the ship after the brightness of the bridge. She kept her eyes shut and her mind out of his, searching instead for the river as it flowed. She felt the chair that he set her into and noted absently that they’d come to a halt in the galley, but her mind was picking through a crowd, searching for voices that she knew. A thumb down her cheek, a hand turning her face upwards, and the jaguar gave her charcoal and fire over apprehension and the faintest hint of apples and rain. Strangely enough, the lemon was gone. When had that happened?  

Water into the kettle. The scrape of metal over a glass cooktop. He was going through cupboards as she found and skimmed the minds of her family. Her heart twisted, apprehension ruling as she looked for indicators of future behavior and dropped them into her calculations. But she kept getting distracted by the sounds Riddick was making in the galley. Finally, grumbling in her head, she pulled her legs up to cross them, laid her hands on her knees, and dropped from her mind entirely. She felt his surprise as she pulled her consciousness from his, and then there was only the crew, the family. Home.

 

~HHYFN~

 

 

Something was roaring. It sounded like a big cat. Not a lion, but a jungle cat; the kind that fell from trees and killed in one lunge. It sounded like a man, angry and… _frightened_? Her shoulders wouldn’t move, and her skin was on fire. She was still seated, but she was surrounded by warm fur and spices and clarity of purpose that put ordinary men to shame. In front of her a jaguar paced, tail twitching and flopping like a fish on dry land as a mark of its agitation. She stared, and green eyes flashed as it stopped, looked at her, and roared again. The sound blasted her consciousness, twisting around her mind as the animal snarled and headbutted her in the chest. She coughed, her air gone, and thrashed in surprise. Her shoulders were free now, her legs pinioned, and big hands caught her smaller fists and trapped them together. The weapon fought the hold around her with just as much focus as the girl was bringing to bear in trying to calm herself and still the erratic movements.

:: _River!_ ::

Her head jerked back and impacted with bone and her cry of pain mingled with his bark of surprise. The hands around hers clenched and she gasped as she felt the bones grind together. Whimpering, the girl curled in on herself as much as she could, trying to get her bearings, searching for the familiar. His mind was there, a refuge even though its cool waters roiled in confusion. The jaguar dropped out of its tree to land in front of her, and she flung her arms around it and buried her face in its neck while the more cerebral man rested a hand on the shoulder of weapon and pinning her back against the tree. She panted and realized she was on the floor, Riddick’s arms and legs pinioning her from behind as the last of the twitches and involuntary flinging of hands worked themselves out of her system.

“River!” The voice was just as loud in her ear as it had been in her mind and she winced away.

“Ow,” she muttered and tried to rub her ear on her shoulder since she couldn’t seem to get her hands free. His grip loosened, and then vanished entirely as he wrapped his arms around her ribcage instead and set her upright between his knees. She massaged her temples as she twisted to look at him. The goggles were off, worry in every line of his face, and his mind was assaulting her’s with images of her falling out of her chair and her heartbeat fading to near imperceptibility. Aftershocks of lemon mixed with leather and steel ripped up her nose, and she realized the jaguar was giving her _his_ scent as it had been. She could feel the heat rising in her skin, and knew her cheeks were red. “Sorry,” she whispered. “And thank you. The girl got lost. The pull of the river, of the turmoil of minds.” She hung her head and turned away to stare at her feet where they stretched out in front of her, bracketed by his. “Thought meditation would help bring clarity. Always has in the past.”

“I felt you go,” he rumbled. ::In my head, you were gone. Like you’d never been.:: He was turning her in his arms now, or turning himself. She wasn’t sure exactly. But she was facing him, and he had her chin between his hands. Gentle where moments ago they’d been anything but, she marveled at this man. This Furyan and all the different things he could be while still being himself. The Riddick. The role of Lord Marshall had been, in a way, what he was born for. If his people had lived, he could have, would have ruled. She felt his amusement at the idea, and his rejection of it. Defiant was a very good word for him, and he wanted no part of ruling anyone. She decided that it was ok. If he hadn’t been who he was he’d have never run, never found her.

::And don’t you forget it.:: He tipped her face up to kiss her, just once, before leaning back and raising an eyebrow. “Now, what happened?”

River tilted her head and studied the planes and curves of his face as she tried to line her words up in logical order. There were still veins standing out along his head, and the goggles were nowhere in sight, leaving his eyes to gleam at her as residual light hit them and bounced off. His nostrils were flaring as he pulled in her scent and analyzed it, and she caught charcoal and fire in mass quantities. The lips twitched at the corners as he caught where her attention was headed, and he pulled back before she could lean up and kiss them.

Sighing, she twisted her hands in her laps. “Found the family. To find the plans. Couldn’t concentrate, dropped into true mediation.” She shrugged. “That has never happened, when she follows the river a part usually stays behind to monitor surroundings.”

He frowned and ran an absentminded hand up her back. “You pulled out of my head completely. I couldn’t feel you. And you’ve followed the river a couple times in the past few days.”

River turned that over, looking for answers in the parts since the whole was still a mystery to her. ::She posits the theory that it was her agitation that caused her to be unable to truly follow the current. Still nervous, worried about what’s coming. Did what she has always done when focus is needed.::

::And nearly killed yourself,:: his mental voice was full of growl and bluster, but the worry was clear.

She leaned forward until she could rest her head under his chin. ::Apologies. It seems that the bonding has tied us together more deeply than could be anticipated::

He barked a laugh and tightened her arms to fit her more closely against him. She reveled in the feel of his hands on her back, fingers tracing along her veins. “Anticipated,” he chuckled. “Like any of this could be anticipated.”

“The Riddick does not know if he is mad or grateful to Shirah for poking her nose into his life again.” He stiffened but she continued, weaving her mind into his and trying to push as much calm and acceptance as she could in his direction. “She has heard the dreams. They were loud.” She shrugged and ran her hands down his chest to the snap on his pants. “The girl knows that she will always be grateful, if a bit jealous that a dream woman pushed him to do what the river could not convince him of in the first place.” And she yanked on the snap, rolled her hips forward, and bulled her head into his chest until he tipped over backwards. And even as he was getting over his surprise at the maneuver, she proceeded to show him just how grateful she was. And how much more of his attention she should own instead of giving it over to Shirah.

 

~HHYFN~

 

Riddick laughed as River growled and kicked at her shirt where it lay on the floor. Her bra lay at the opposite end of the room, one of the straps torn and the little metal hooks in the back bent completely out of alignment; and he was anything but repentant about it. The girl turned to bare her teeth at him before picking up the offending article of clothing and yanking it over her head. “She only has so many clothes you know,” she grumbled as her head popped out of the neckline. “And only two bras.” She stomped over to pick up the bit of tan lace and cotton and shook it in his direction. “Tiny she may be but wobbling and jiggling like badly formed protein is not desirable and bandages make a poor substitute for keeping the breasts in place.”

The big man snorted and turned back to the water kettle so she couldn’t see the look on his face. The first half of the comment had brought to mind all sort of images, followed quickly by a new set that had more to do with this ‘Verse’s idea of shipside food and the hassle it was to try and prepare. Behind him River kicked open the trash disposal and dumped her bra, snarling only half in jest. “She will find corsets. With metal stays. Then maybe the man will not ruin them.”

And there went the images again. Riddick growled, dropped the kettle, and spun to trap her in his arms. “I’ll make you beg then,” he growled in her ear as he turned them both and pinned her to the cupboards with his body. “You’ll wish it was just cloth, ‘cause I can have all the patience in the world. One. Lace. At. A. Time.” He dipped his head to grip her shoulder in his teeth and pressed just a little closer with his hips, as if she couldn’t feel him hard and ready anyways.

She gasped, tipped her head backwards, and managed to look him in the eye. “We’ll have to see,” she bit out, before dropping to her knees and lurching sideways to get clear of him. Riddick growled, but let her go and she laughed as she reached for the two silver bags on the counter labeled “Sesame Chicken”. He was pleased to note her hands were shaky. She gave him a mental poke in the head and pointed out that his heart was racing too, and he was about to snap the dish in his hands to pieces.

The food was shit, but it was still food. He’d scrounged up a spoon somewhere while she used the sticks to pick bits of what looked like sloppy orange dog food out of the bowl and stuff it in her mouth. He shook his head. First or Second Exodus, he really didn’t care, but at least in cryo you didn’t have to worry about food. The habits of the people of the first Exodus were downright weird.

::Chinese-American venture. Biggest economical bases. Took a good bit of Europe with them as well. Cultures merged, traditions of one became traditions of the other.:: River balanced a ball of rice on the end of one of the sticks for a second before popping it in her mouth. ::Africa and the Middle East could not muster the funds to leave as quickly. Dissidents didn’t want to ally themselves with the infidels when all of space beckoned. By the time they escaped,:: she shrugged and trailed off. ::Dig into our history and there are rumors of espionage groups stealing technology. Most of cryo research, different options for space drives. Must have succeeded.::

Riddick eyed her for a moment before shrugging. He really didn’t care one way or another. However humans had ended up scattered over the stars, they were here now. And he just hoped that his home systems were far enough away that Vaako, even if he decided to come looking for his Lord Marshal, would write it off as a lost cause. They’d been traveling in opposite directions after all, and if his research into the Necro’s history was any good, they were still headed for the Underverse. He hoped.

River flicked a bit of rice at him and grinned when he growled at her. “Does it truly matter,” she asked. “The Riddick is within the bounds of the Alliance now. Wanted for killing at least two men. Desired for knowing the girl that nobody seems to be able to keep pinned down. What hold does she have over him? Or him over her? Money? Threat of death?” Her grin broaden and silk and vanilla rolled off her in waves as apples and rain twisted their way up his nose. “Stockholm syndrome?” She waited for him to quit laughing before continuing. “Doesn’t matter. He has her. They want her back. He is either an obstacle or an asset. Better if he were dead. All who come in contact with her should die.” She frowned. “Sonics will hurt you know. Worse than most. Ears bleeding, mouth red. Fingernails loose.”

Riddick grunted and poked at her with his spoon. “Ain’t gonna happen. Get that shit out your head girl.” And he pushed calm and determination her direction, backed by a promise to kill anything and anyone who got in their way.

              She sighed and propped her elbows on the table and let him feel her acceptance. “Apologies. Still nervous about Persephone. Eavesdown docks more like Rim, but still very close to Core. Will have to walk soft.”

“Thought you said I looked like one thing.”

She laughed and stood to take his empty bowl. “He does. In the main city, couldn’t go five steps before Feds closed in. Hounds to the scent. At the docks,” she shrugged and dumped the bowls in the sink and came back to perch herself on his knee. “Will stand out less. The goggles will mark you, but everyone new gets marked for something there.”

Riddick ran over the options in his head as she leaned back into his shoulder. Her skin was cool under his hand as he ran a thumb over her fingers. She was silent as well, and he could feel her mind turning calculations over and over as her scent shifted from silk to mint to apprehension and back to apples and rain. “What will you get marked for,” he asked finally.

She shrugged. “Depends. Could go out as she did on the skyplex. Good excuse for huge bodyguard. Or could go out in merc’s clothes.” She twisted a little to grin at him and he nearly inhaled a face full of her hair as she did so. Not that he was really going to complain about that. His jaguar rolled over, and the small figure rubbing its stomach chuckled. “Proper posture, proper attitude,” she was ignoring his amused prodding at her mind. “She passes for a gun hand sometimes.”

“Don’t do the personality transplants do ya,” he couldn’t help asking. He fucking _hated_ it when she did that. She wasn’t River then. She was alien, unknown, a threat to him in a way he couldn’t describe. She was stiffening against him, and steel mixed with wet earth floated in the air. Her mind, still wrapped around his, was hardening as she locked her private thoughts away. He snarled, angry at her and at himself for pushing her. But lies weren’t his deal and the truth was what it was. He shoved the thought in her direction, hoping to crack the barriers she was putting up. For a moment he thought that it hadn’t worked; either that she hadn’t heard him or that she was ignoring him completely. He removed his hands from her so he wouldn’t hurt her as he formed fists and squeezed. Finally the girl sighed and relaxed against him again, wet earth winning out over steel, then cool water overriding even the earth.

“Peat,” she muttered, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “You smell peat on the girl when she’s sad.” She was twisting her fingers together now, knotting and unknotting them in a rhythm he couldn’t place. “She does not mean to disturb. Has discovered that acting inconspicuous requires certain…compromises of self. It is easier to channel a personality than to try to hide her own.” Serious dark eyes looked up into his. “Did not realize it was such a complete transformation.”

“Your scent changes,” he muttered as he dropped his face into her hair. “Don’t like not smelling you on you.” He sounded petulant and he knew it. It didn’t change the facts any.

She snorted and leaned her head back to rest it against his shoulder, but said nothing for a very great while. He could feel her mind working, turning things over in hers, poking at this and that in his. It was odd, like someone stroking fur backwards along his spine, but the animal was unconcerned and the man merely curious as to what she was up to. Her heart rate dropped to match his, and for a moment he was glad just for the peace, the rightness of it. With their luck, they wouldn’t get another moment of calm between Persephone and Haven, no matter how the meet went down.

Her voice was soft when she spoke again, and cool water filled the room and flooded his mind. Almost, he could feel himself floating in it, a lake too deep to see the bottom, a sky above so blue above him it was like someone had carved a bowl from gemstones and set it over him before shining a light through it. He remembered colors, but this was the first time in years they had played across his brain as if he were actually seeing them. “She thinks she may have a solution,” she whispered, running fingers up his arms and leaving trails of fire. “Anchor herself in him, line around a rock. Swim the river, taste the currents.” She shifted slightly, and his veins hummed. “Seek the crew and find the plans. Love and life and comfort found, or death and pain and running sounds.”

Charcoal threaded through her, and into him, and for the first time since he’d smelled it on her he remembered that it wasn’t just evidence of a fire, but a purifier too. Pared down to the essence of thought, she was speaking her own sort of clarity. It was left to the fools around her to realize that the language she spoke was that of the heart of hearts and not the cerebral mind.

He felt himself sway in the current of the water around him, felt his heart slow and her breath deepen. Dropping his feet and anchoring them not only on the deck but also to the bottom of the lake, he buried his nose in her hair and wrapped his arms around her as the water closed over his head.

“Alright then River,” he whispered against her neck. “Go hunting.” Gooseflesh erupted under his hands, but her scent and heart didn’t change. He felt her, twisting through his mind like veins of fire under his skin, and the jaguar rumbled as she wrapped herself around him and clung while the girl made of streaming bladed edges buried herself in the arms of the man. He looked for the tree of the jaguar, and then the darkened den beyond. And though he didn’t know how he tied himself in, far, far past the instinctual and straight into the primitive fire at his core. And then, for the longest time, he knew only the current of voices around him.

 

~HHYFN~

 

**Author** **’s Note:** Sooo…Badger! We did get to meet him. Sort of. I actually intended him to come off a lot more friendly to River and less…Badger, but he just wouldn’t go along with it. This chapter gave me lots of pain. Dialogue between anyone _not_ River and Riddick is a bitch to write. I think it’s cause I’m trying to the animal, the weapon, the girl and the man interact with each other all at same time as the people around them are speaking. Not to mention the smells and breath and heart rates. So many balls to juggle, and I’m no good at it! Please please please let me know what you think, constructive crits and all.

 

/Drumroll….They’re not mine! Not! Lawyers, lawyers go away!

 

Translations:

_Pi gu_ : butt/ass

_Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh ur-tze:_ Stupid son of a drooling whore and a monkey

_hwoon dahn_ : bastard

 

Cool water-calm, battle state

Sour fruit- drugs burning out of system

Citrus-fear/terror

Rain/apples- base scent

Charcoal-tipping off edge of sanity

Silk- joy, exaltation

Wet earth/peat- sadness

Warm vanilla-arousal

steel, the smell of a good blade freshly honed.-anger

Witchhazel-mindless killing, when she's a river of blades

Mint- anticipation

Simon's cooking-disgust

Malt-exhaustion

Bitter herb-hurt, emotional

Charcoal and fire-she is in the river, listening

 

Forward/bow—Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Slip: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. **Fiery death!** (Hi Guin J )

 


	16. 16

Ch. 16

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I could hold my head up high_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I said I'm sorry_

“It’s Been a While” Staind

 

The deck beneath him smelled of old blood and fresh sex. He’d woken up in a lot of places, from crashed spaceships to ledges over lava vents, but this was a first for him. His head was ringing, and it felt like his mind had gotten pulled in a million directions at once before everything let go and slammed back together again. Groaning, he levered himself over to his back, and stared at the ceiling above for a moment before putting out the immense effort it took to sit up. It was like he had those fucking power cells tied to him again, two on his chest and two tied to his back and damn if he couldn’t seem to catch a full breath.

He braced himself against the chair lying next to him and looked around. River was sprawled out in a heap on the other side of it, half under the table. Her breathing was deep and even, her heartbeat slow, but steady. He shook his head as he pulled himself to his knees, moved the chair aside, and reached for her. It took a little work to get her up in his arms and even more to make it to his feet without toppling over, but somehow he managed. A mental probe revealed a swirl of thoughts, images, and even colors that he had no names for. His animal rumbled and nosed at her a bit before going back to its tree and climbing up. The man shrugged. Apparently, nothing was wrong that a decent amount of sleep wouldn’t cure. He wondered briefly when was the last time either of them had really slept for more than a couple hours, and couldn’t put his finger on it. Just as well then. They were coming up on Persephone sometime soon and the longer she could go without consciously worrying about what would happen there, the better. He hoped she’d found good news in the river.

Staggering only slightly, he made his way out of the galley and down the hall. A bump on the doorpad with his elbow opened their bunk, and he slipped inside and laid her on the bed just as his legs started giving off warning signals. Her landing was a little less than gentle, but she didn’t wake. Instead she turned over, muttering a little, and pawed at the blankets. Thoroughly awake now, he knew that he needed to get away before he woke her and stepped into the nest of scorpions again. Or a nest of something else much more enjoyable but probably just as bad for the both of them in the long run. Either way, she needed sleep. Pulling the covers up around her, he padded out of the bunk and back down the hall.

He got the galley cleaned up, dishes washed and put away, chair righted and back in its spot at the table. A scrap of lace she’d forgotten when she put her clothes back on earlier was folded and placed on the seat of one of the chairs. He could smell her on it, apples and rain, vanilla, remnants of sex; and he considered for just a moment the idea of hiding it so she couldn’t wash it. But the man overrode the jaguar and he figured that if he followed through on the idea and she found out, she’d invest in steel laced garter belts. Or something equally ridiculous and cumbersome to get off.

The bridge came next, and he scanned the screen and flashing light indicators. ETA timers were ticking down in the corner of one screen, one for time till atmo, the other time till landing. The rest of the lights were all green where they needed to be, and he couldn’t see any of the particular flat greys of red. He took a minute to refamiliarize himself with the controls, doing a mental recitation of what was what. He didn’t touch anything though. The autopilot on this boat seemed a bit finicky and he wasn’t interested in waking River to tell her he’d broken it. There was a portable cortex screen propped between the top of the console and the bulkhead and he grabbed it before wandering out. The man knew better than to fiddle. The animal was bored and looking for some practice. Better to get out of there altogether.

He found himself in the cargo bay, only the lights of Kyra’s coffin to disturb his eyes. Cortex forgotten, he went to sit on one of the crates. Eventually he realized that he was, once again, listening for a heartbeat that didn’t exist anymore. When had all of this happened, he wondered. When had he turned from a man who ran from everything, to a man who ran towards something, and then to a man who stayed? He couldn’t really complain. Not about where he was now. He was free of the mercs who’d been hunting him, free of the Necros and their halfhearted devotion to him. Free of his whole damned set of solar systems.

Instead he’d tied himself to a woman whose bounty was worth more than his, in a new solar system where there was probably a price being put on his head even as he breathed. Just for being with her. Heart, body, and soul he’d tied himself to a woman who had in turn anchored herself so deeply into him that pulling her mind completely out of his was enough to nearly kill her. How was it even possible that they’d bonded like they had? What would happen if he tried to withdraw his mind from hers? Would he die too? It wasn’t a theory he cared to test. Enough to know that he didn’t _want_ to live without her now. He was still trying to figure out how he’d gone from planning to kill her to ensure anonymity in this ‘Verse to being willing to let her hook herself into his mind and heart as deeply as she had. He’d truly found his match, and she seemed to think he was hers.

In retrospect, it had started long before he’d ever found the _Hound_. It had begun with Caroline. With Imam. With Jack. The first person he could remember running _towards_ instead of away from. Back to get her from the cave. Into Crematoria to get her out. Back to the Necromongers and the fight with Zhylaw. He knew that it had been more her than the Purifier’s words that had driven him into setting course for Helion Prime. Furyan he may have been, and Necros may have decimated his home planet, but in the end he didn’t give a flying fuck about avenging a people he’d never heard of till a nosey Elemental put out a bounty on his head. It had been Kyra. Jack. Whoever she’d been and whatever she’d been before, she’d been his to protect. And he’d done a shit job of it too.

Would he still be here, he wondered. If Jack hadn’t been on that ship, would he have let Caroline yell and cry and try to fight until he agreed to go back? If he’d stayed with her on Helion, would he have been able to protect her any better than he had Imam when the Necros came? If he’d even tried to explain what he was doing, leaving so he could draw the packs of mercs away, would it have changed the end result? Would she have still come looking, ended up in that prison? He couldn’t find it in himself to hold it against her, even now. It pissed him off that she’d signed on with mercs, but the kind of training he’d gotten wasn’t something she was ever supposed to know existed. He couldn’t blame her for taking the Necro ship when she’d thought he was dead. Fuck, he’d thought he was dead too. Dead from the Necro guns, dead from the charge that had blown its way out of his body, dead and ashes as the sun rose. Didn’t matter really. She’d seen her chance at life. He’d abandoned her again. And he’d lost her. Again.

A small hand slid up his arm as apples and rain made their way up his nose. He listened as she stepped up onto the crate behind him, and her legs settled on either side of his, cool even through the fabric, heart steady, breath even. She rested her cheek against his back as she reached forward around him and took his hands in hers. “Her life. Yours. They are streams in the river. Moving from the headwaters of birth down to the ocean. Meeting with others, carving their channels. Hers met with yours, altered your course. Brought you to me.” River’s voice was hardly above a whisper, and he couldn’t tell if he was hearing it more in his mind than out loud. “It is a thing I’m grateful for. Sad that she died, but grateful to have found you. My Riddick.”

She gave his hands one last squeeze and stood. He rumbled, not wanting her to go, but she merely moved around front and took his hands again, pulling him to his feet as she did so. “She is deserving of a final rest. Of a place of protection and safety, even in death. She whispers in the ocean, but I cannot speak to her there. I am the delta and the river. My own channel cuts through, while the waters of all flow through me.” She took a deep breath and bit her lip and the slightest hint of lemons drifted off her. “For her I will risk my family’s wrath. But for you,” and now it was steel in his nose and fire in her eyes. “For the Riddick I will fight them if need be.” And then she grinned and started pulling, backing towards the corridor leading down the bridge.

His jaguar reminded him that it also led to their bunk, and in his head she laughed. Not a giggle, a true laugh, full of life and hope. ::But her recent trip through the river has left her with more hope than worry. ETA to atmo is six hours.:: And she raised herself up to kiss him, long and hard. She still had hold of his hands, and kept them when he would have tried to wrap her in his arms. Lips trailed from his, down his jaw to his throat. She had backed him up against the wall, and the jaguar was rumbling in satisfaction as she lifted his arms to the sides and pinned them to the metal behind him with her own.

She gave an extra shove to keep them there before trailing fingers of fire up to his shoulders and down his sides. He groaned, tried to drop his head to hers, and got it pushed back against the wall for his trouble. She pressed up against him, every bit of her touching every bit of him that she could manage, and his skin was starting to light up everywhere her body met his. His chest burned, and she pulled his head down to kiss him over the lip print on his forehead. ::She will always be grateful that he was brought to her, no matter the how. No matter the why. And if her family tries to take him from her, they will find exactly how unpredictable she can be.:: Her lips on his again, and her fingers working their way up under his shirt. ::For he is _her match_ and she is _his._ And _tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si_ if they think they can take that from us.::

He couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged, gathering her in his arms and pulling her up so her legs hooked around his hips. She gasped as he took over the kiss, and her tongue met his in a small war inside their mouths as he turned so it was her back against the wall now instead of his. He braced her there, pinning her hips with his as he drug his mouth from hers and down to her shoulder. Her fingers scrabbled at his chest as she did her best to tear his shirt off his body. The animal inside rumbled, and the man wondered why he even bothered putting clothes on. River laughed inside his head at the thought, and slipped a hand down his ribs, past her leg, and yanked the blade he carried strapped to his thigh from its sheath. ::You ruin her clothes,:: she whispered into the ear of the jaguar as she bit his bottom lip and sucked. ::She will ruin yours.:: That said, she slipped the knife up and under the shirt, and he felt the cool kiss of metal as it ran up his stomach. She didn’t break skin, but the cloth parted like water before the blade; and he nearly impaled himself as instinct overran reason and he did his best to melt her with the heat of his body. She got the knife out from between them just in time, and went for the shoulder seams as she bucked her hips into his and moaned.

He let her get one shoulder before rearing back and snatching at the hand with the blade in it. She let him catch hold of her wrist, but refused to give up the knife. Growling into his throat, she yanked at the back of his shirt with her free hand and managed to get it most of the way off. He shook his arm free as she nibbled her way down his neck and chest and her mind shifted inside his like a drape of silk falling over his head. Cool, smooth, settling in its own unique folds and billows; she enveloped him. Vanilla and that strange spiced musk rose in the air around them. Weapon and animal, girl and man came together and melded as he pinned first one wrist, then the other to the wall above her head, knife still clutched in her fingers, and he set his free hand to making a very detailed exploration of her breasts. She groaned as her eyes fluttered shut, and he could feel the damp through multiple layers of clothing as she pressed her center to his shaft.

::She sees a value in skirts now.:: Her voice in his head was faint, just the barest of whispers, but the two halves of his self moved as one in response. His hand left of its examinations, reached for the knife in hers, and stole it from limp fingers as she writhed and put only half effort into getting free. He was careful, so very careful, as he ran the tip of the blade up first one side of her pants, and then the other, knee to hip and then a yank to cut through the upper hemline and the drawstring that had been keeping them up. Her heartbeat fairly sang in his ears, and he’d never thought a body could put off as much heat as hers was doing. He stared at her a moment as she panted against the wall; and watched the shift and play of light as it pulsed over her body in time with his own heartbeat. Her legs clenched, hitching themselves higher up around his waist and he nearly gasped at the feel of her against him. His hands loosened on hers and she pushed him just far enough way to work an arm down between them and was working the snap before he could blink; slipping a hand inside and taking careful hold of his swollen dick and the balls beneath. Her fingers ghosted there while the other hand was working to slip the cloth from his hips. He did gasp then, and grabbed for her, pulling her up along his body so she could use her feet to shove at his pants and get them completely off. She curled up and over, burying his face in her breasts as her arms wrapped around his head, and for a moment he was content to lose his breath to her, surrounded by softness and vanilla as he was. The girl-weapon shifted in his head, reaching for the man with animal eyes and claws on his fingers. She smelled wet and welcoming, and he rumbled deep in his chest as the instinct and the rational pulled her close.

Her pants were off somehow, either through all the moving or by his grabbing he wasn’t sure, but they hung in tatters from her ankles, as his pooled around his. She lowered herself by strength of legs alone, rubbing against him and smearing her scent all over before recentering herself against his length. Riddick growled, captured her mouth in his, and shifted in return. She cried out a little, and her hands ran over his head and neck until he knew he’d go mad before he came. She fought, just a little, as he pinned her wrists to the wall again with one hand, lifted her hips with the other, and lunged.

That earned him a gasping cry in the ear as he slid home and she surrounded him; wet, hot, and slick. She bucked, and again as she discovered the leverage the wall gave her, and clutched at him with her legs to pull him closer. He met and matched her, one hand on her hip, mouth all over her skin. Vanilla and musk in his nose, skin on fire where it met hers. Hands over fur and over blades that threatened but never cut, they rode each other up the current of the river, sure and swift, and then back down through the rapids of conscious thought; screaming and roaring in turn as they fell over the edge and into the mists below.

 

~HHYFN~

 

 

River couldn’t help it. She laughed. Riddick was growling again, something about engine rooms made for space midgets and not broad shouldered convicts. He was doing his job though, switching the engine over from pulse to jet as they broke through the lower level of atmo and into the sky above Persephone. She winced as he growled at her in his head, but otherwise ignored him. There were too many ships and shuttles and obstacles in her way to worry about the oversensitive temper of the man serving as engineer at the moment, and she told him so through their bond with a grin fit to crack her face open before sobering and setting her mind to the task at hand. She was glad he was in the engine room and not in the bridge when he replied, but the mental fingers he ran down her chest in revenge was enough to make her hands clench and her eyes to glaze momentarily.

She growled at him before sideslipping the ship to avoid a particularly idiotic pilot who apparently couldn’t see ten feet in front of his face. “ _Da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze_ ,” she snapped. “Learn to fly,” she said the last over the open comms used for planetside hailing between vessels. A chorus of curses and threats answered her, but she’d found her berth. As it was, she was too taken up with sending orders down to Riddick and trying not to let the backwash of the _hwoon dahn_ above her shove them into the ground at a less than desirable rate to worry about people who should really just learn to fly. Riddick’s curses layered over those of her fellow pilots, and she dropped a mental handful of dust on the jaguar’s nose before ignoring him altogether.

It took a few minutes to haggle out the docking fees with port control, and another few to set the lock protocols so that even if someone managed to break into the ship while they were out, there wouldn’t be an ice planet’s chance in hell they could get it flying. That was her own bit of trickery, worked out of an idea from Wash, long before Miranda burned its way out her brain. If he could change the start sequence of the shuttles so Mal and Zoe couldn’t leave without him, why couldn’t she do it with a ship? It had worked on Serenity, and Captain Daddy had been simultaneously relieved and worried that if they ever lost her, no one would remember how to reset them. She figured that they must have, or else it had been a very exciting four months, four days and sixteen hours for them. She hoped _Serenity_ wasn’t too badly damaged. She hoped Kaylee had convinced him to keep her in the repair needed for following a cold scent trail all over the ‘Verse. She hadn’t been focusing on those details when she’d swum the river the day before.

A beeping alerted her to the fact that everything in the bridge was locked down, and Riddick’s frustrated grumble in her mind told her that he’d finished up in the engine room as well. Sighing, she picked up the pack by her feet and headed out. He’d be looking for a fight, and it was best not to give him one in such a crowded place. The space station had almost been safer. Less room to roam, nobody there without purpose, and except for vendors, very few who stayed long. The population of the Eavesdown Docks was just as fluid as the skyplex but there were far more who lurked just to lurk; and others who just plain lived among the dust and the stench, looking for any coin they could steal, grift or beg. Captain Daddy had warned her, when she first started coming with them to Badger’s, never to meet the eyes of anyone and never to assume a beggar was a beggar. The tired girl on a stack of crates could just as well be a lookout for a ring of pickpockets as she could be just wanting out of the crush. She’d given him a _look_ , but nodded. She’d be able to scan for trouble on an individual basis, but the throng as a whole was too disorienting to not take his wisdom to heart. Somehow, she had no doubt that Riddick wouldn’t need any of that sort of advice.

The jaguar, still irritable, sought to overwhelm her senses with the smell of leather and steel, sweat and the leftovers of sex that neither had bothered to clean off before falling into the nest on the floor of his bunk the night before. He dropped from the ceiling above the hatch into the engine room, head tilted to one side as he looked for her reaction. She gifted him with a snort and a push of irritation, the pain of his fresh bruises and his appreciation of her the way her planetside clothes clung to her body. He laughed, and slung an arm over the shoulder not carrying her pack as she headed for the airlock and its controls. She let him, replacing her wariness and fear with his warmth and confidence. She’d told him this morning, over the last of the fresh fruit, what she’d found when she’d ran with the currents and listened to her crew. It had given her some small hope of the day not ending in bloodshed on either side, but the needles were still hovering on the edges of her vision.

He caught her hand as she reached for the airlock release and turned her to face him. She stared up into the goggles he’d put back on sometime between breakfast and entering the engine room for final descent and couldn’t help the wave of regret that he’d had to cover up his eyes again. He was amused at that, and the man poked none-to-subtly at her mind to try to see exactly what she had to say about those eyes. But she’d locked those thoughts up in walls, only to be let out when she was good and ready. Her match he may be, but he’d still have to earn her words on his eyes. He hmmphed in her head and pulled their collective attention back to the present. ::One step at a time remember,:: he hummed against her forehead as his mental voice slid over her like warm chocolate. ::I’m the best there is at escaping.::

She snorted, but allowed the calm he was offering to slip through her veins. Pride dictated her answer, but the jaguar was gaping out a grin even before she sent it to him. ::Better to not get caught at all.::

Riddick shook his head and palmed the button that would open the airlock doors, and she felt him brace himself for the stench he knew must be outside. She in her turn threw up a few more walls between her mind and those waiting. She’d had no real relief since they landed, but it never hurt to put a little more distance there. It was only when Riddick grunted and reached a hand up to rub his temples that she realized she’d been blocking him out at well. She ran a hand down the jaguar’s back in apology and took his hand and squeezed. The look he shot her was unreadable, but his fingers laced through hers and the jaguar offered its tree as her anchor and place of protection. She’d just settled herself as the dust and sunlight and smell of the Docks hit them both full in the face and Riddick’s nostrils flared while his mouth turned down in a frown. She gave his hand an extra squeeze before stepping forward. “Time to go. Errands to run, fresh fruit to find. Badgers to placate.”

Riddick snorted and stepped up next to her as she headed down the ramp, freeing his hand to sling the arm back over her shoulder before he let her lace fingers with his again. “Let’s get this over with,” he rumbled.

 

~HHYFN~

 

**Author** **’s Note:** So, they haven’t met the crew yet. We’ll just have to wait and see how that turns out. I felt that this needed to be dealt with first. Riddick and Kyra are a still a dynamic after all, and River’s very much aware of it. This lemon btw, wrote itself. I just wanted River to drag him back to the bunk, but NOOOOO. Next thing I know she’d got him pinned up against the wall. Seriously, what are they? Teenagers? I’m starting to think that horny doesn’t really begin to describe them.

 

Also, I know I’m not explaining everything in great detail. Remember, these two are in each other’s heads, putting together the pieces of their conversations based not only one what’s being said but what’s NOT being said. Its intuition mated to intellect. Not only that, but I am seeing information that will be explained or revealed later. I’m a great believer in reading between the lines and drawing conclusions from context. I don’t like to read things that spell out every little detail, and I don’t like writing them either. After all, you’re all incredibly smart people. Why else would you be so interested in this pairing? XD

 

Translations:

_tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si_ \- fuck everyone in the universe to death

_Da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze-_ The explosive diarrhea of an elephant

_hwoon dahn-_ bastard

Cool water-calm, battle state

Sour fruit- drugs burning out of system

Citrus-fear/terror

Rain/apples- base scent

Charcoal-tipping off edge of sanity

Silk- joy, exaltation

Wet earth/peat- sadness

Warm vanilla-arousal

steel, the smell of a good blade freshly honed.-anger

Witchhazel-mindless killing, when she's a river of blades

Mint- anticipation

Simon's cooking-disgust

Malt-exhaustion

Bitter herb-hurt, emotional

Charcoal and fire-she is in the river, listening

 

Forward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Slip/berth: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. **Fiery death!**


	17. 17

Ch. 17

 

 _Daddy can you hear the devil drawing near?_  
Like a bullet from a gun, run daddy run.  
 _Saw that dark cloud coming from a million miles away._  
 _Oh how I_ _’ve dreaded this God forsaken day._

“Run Daddy Run”, Miranda Lambert and the Pistol Annies

 

A man stood amidst the dust and crush of people and cursed with mind and lips. He cursed the sky for mocking him with its brightness, a badger for its smug superiority, and everyone and everything that had come between him and what was his. Thoughts rolled through his mind and from his mouth in a mix of Mandarin and English, inspiring a certain sort of awe in his companions and the occasional admiring look from a passerby. He was not being overly loud, but he was speaking from the heart, and that is a thing people almost always take notice of.

Someone had taken his Albatross. Their girl. They’d snuck onto the ship somehow and managed to set such an ambush as he would have wished to set on the Alliance. They’d shot her down in front of them and taken her and there hadn’t been a thing he could do if he wanted the rest of his crew, his family, to live. The hunters had made a very bad mistake though, in not killing them all. Because as soon as they’d gotten all the explosives found and the engine patched up, the crew of _Serenity_ had put on their war faces and gone hunting.

And found nothing.

Four months. Four months with nary a whisper, a glimpse; either of their girl or the crew that had taken her. It was showing too. Tempers ran high. Kaylee had started chucking bits of engine parts at all and sundry, and she’d kicked Simon out of their bunk more than once. Jayne’s rough edges had never really gone away, but he’d gotten more than a mite tetchy lately. The arrival of that _gou tsao de_ guitar had only made things worse as far as he was concerned, and he wished it had never come aboard. Every spare minute the man had, he was playing the thing, and it was near driving the Captain to crawl out a hatch without a suit. He kept looking for the dancing figure that always seemed to accompany the sound of the music, and on not finding her, had to step firmly on the need to go shoot the damned thing to pieces.

And then there’d been the reports out of Red Sun, and Monty had tossed him the first real bit of news they’d gotten since they lost her. Saddler was dead, and his crew, in all manner of blood and violence. Blood and violence that he knew their girl just didn’t have the power or body mass to accomplish. Was it that big _tah mah de_ that Monty had seen pick her up in the street? Had she been _with_ him or had she been chased by him? His old friend had been less than clear on the details of what had happened on the skyplex and understandably so. Something about mercs, and gun waving, and coming around the corner of a docking bay to see a huge man with goggles pointing a gun at him between the two halves of a closing airlock hatch.

They’d turned around then, once they cut the wave with Monty. As much as it pained him to say it, Badger had been right. Flying into Red Sun and its skyplex in particular would be like walking into a hornet’s nest of Alliance and bounty hunters, all looking for the girl and the man who’d left two dead in the docking bays. She’d been sighted, she was still alive somewhere, and that was enough for them to keep flying. Keep hunting. And to do that they needed this job. Gorramit all to hell anyways, they needed this job and the payday it brought. He was past caring now who wanted something shipped out to Blue Sun so bad they’d pay a hundred thousand plat, and he didn’t plan to start caring.

What he did care about was the smug grin on Badger’s face as he’d told them which bar to meet their contacts in. Something had crawled down his spine and taken up residence in his gut at that. The half hidden smiles on the faces of the weasel’s men hadn’t helped. But they needed the job. They’d been neglecting work in favor of hunting, and it was starting to show in the lean faces of the crew and a certain grinding in the engine that Kaylee claimed would blow them all to kingdom come soon if she didn’t get time to fix it properly planetside.

“Sir.” Mal turned to look at his first mate, and was unsurprised to see her frowning. “Sir, something ain’t right about this.”

On his other side, Jayne snorted. “Ain’t anything right about this. That puddle of _shu ma nyaow_ got something up his sleeve, bet my whole cut on it.”

Mal groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Tell me something new Jayne. Better yet,” he glared at the gun hand. “Tell me how we’re supposed to follow the only lead we got with no fuel and no money to buy any!”

“Hell Mal,” Jayne threw up his hands in frustration. “What lead? Monty thinks he saw her. Well that’s just _swai_! But that was nigh on five days ago. Where’d she go?”

“Info says ship that big guy stuck her on was headed for Blue Sun,” Zoe put in as they started walking again.

“Which is why we’re taking a job that heads us out that way,” Mal said in his best Captainy voice. “See if we can’t sniff them out there.”

“Sure,” Jayne grumbled and dodged around a pile of children playing hopscotch. “Poke around Blue Sun. Mal you know well as I do that just ‘cause they were pointed out that way don’t mean they stayed pointed that way.”

“It’s a fact I’m aware of Jayne.” Mal couldn’t blame the man. He knew the truth too, and trackin’ things _was_ his job. “But it’s a direction, and it’s a damn sight more ‘n we’ve had.”

Jayne snarled as a dog ran out into the street in front of him, trailing a string of some sort of unidentifiable meat behind it. He was still muttering as he caught up with them, but Mal caught the end of his words “-why she ain’t waved if she’s free anyhow.”

Zoe rolled her eyes and Mal shook his head. “Then if she ain’t free, we get her free. Bring her home, where she belongs,” he snapped, and snatched at a pickpocket’s reaching hand as he went by. A swift rap on the head and the retrieval of Zoe’s slim pouch of coin and they were off again.

“Sir, what if she don’t want to come home?”

That brought him up so short he nearly tripped over his own feet. Jayne plowed into the back of him and down they went in a tangle of limbs, gun belts, and flapping coats. Cursing and muttering, the two sorted themselves out and Zoe helped first one, then the other to their feet. “ _Shun-sheng duh gao-wahn_ ,” he nearly shouted, and several heads turned in the crowd to look at him. He waited, panting and trying to dust himself off, mildly grateful his fall hadn’t been two inches to the left and into the pile of _mah fen_ he’d nearly landed in. “Run that by me again,” he demanded as he settled his gun back on his hip.

Zoe hadn’t blinked. “Just say’n Sir. She’s a Reader. We all been so worried about her, worried about how we’ll find her. Simon’s been checking all those vials of drugs he’s got, and you _know_ he’s thinking we’ll find her broken again.” She set her hands behind her back and stood still as a statue, “We’ve all thought it sir, how to handle her if she’s all _feng le_ again.”

That brought him up short. “ _Bizui_ ,” he breathed, as comprehension dawned.

“Aw hell Mal,” Jayne scratched at his head and frowned. “She ran before when we wouldn’t listen. Zo’s got a point. She can read us, why’d she want to come back?”

That earned the gun an appraising look from Captain and first mate both before they started walking again. Mal turned the idea over in his head, and truth to tell he couldn’t see any holes in the logic. She’d taken drastic measures before. Maybe she really had gotten free, and was afraid to come home. His heart tightened bit at that, even though his brain told him it was practical to prepare for finding her back in the place she’d been when she’d first come aboard: Muttering in corners and throwing things at random, cursing and slashing at people with knives. She’d come far, very far since then, and to even think of her regressing… He shoved the thought from his mind and came to a decision as they reached the ship. “We’ll deal with it as it comes. First we need to find her. Then, so long as we can keep the Doc from pumping her full o’ who knows what, we’ll see if she wants to stay.”

Jayne snorted, but didn’t complain, bending to scoop Sierra up as she ran giggling out of the common room, then handing her to Zoe. Something around his first mate’s eyes had loosened, but she opened her mouth and he knew he was going to hate what she was about to say. “And the big guy sir?”

“Just have to see,” he muttered. “He gets in our way though, you bring him down, _dong ma_?”

Zoe nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Meet’s in a couple hours,” he turned to look at the sun setting over the docks and shook his head. “We’ll get this deal, get our cargo, and get fly’n.”

 

~HHYFN~

 

 

It was a fact of life, almost a law. Have dealings with those on the less than legal side of things, and a person was pretty much guaranteed to end up in a bar at some point. Between people too drunk to remember their own names, the cover of buying alcohol for one’s own self, and the general crush of bodies that could be found in a popular bar in the evenings; it was relatively easy to merge with the crowd, get in, and get out. Riddick had spent a very good part of his life on the bad side of the law, not all of it running. He’d still had to eat after all. So, cultural differences aside, he was pretty familiar with the insides of bars. This one was remarkable only in the stench. Even the rotten egg smell of Saddler’s cubby on the skyplex had nothing on this place. He figured it must have something to do with the people trying to dance up near the stage while still carrying their drinks and the assorted piles of animal shit he’d had to pick through to get to the door. Not for the first time, he wondered if River chose places like this on purpose, just to cripple his nose.

The girl in question ignored the thought when he shoved it at her. She was sitting up to the bar he was leaning back against, toying with a shot glass full of something clear and nearly vibrating with the force of her emotions. He could feel them around the edges of his mind, and his animal had been snarling at them most of the day. He’d lost her scent in the stench of the place and kept his arm in contact with hers so he could feel her heart rate. It was erratic, as it had been all afternoon. First calm, then racing as some new worry occurred to her, and then calm again as he bled the worry off of her and tried to shove it down the hole he’d kept his animal in before he met her. It wasn’t really working very well, and if her Captain didn’t show soon, she wasn’t going to be the only one a pile of nerves. And that would be bad, because loss of control of his emotions tended to end in bloodshed, and there were a lot of people between him and the door.

His animal snarled again as River shifted next to him, and the man did his best to calm it, while Riddick himself grunted and took the shot glass from her to down it. ::Don’t need it,:: he muttered to her as the cheap liquid burned a path down his throat. ::You’re on edge enough as it is.::

She frowned at him and called for another. ::Need the camouflage.::

It was hard to argue with that logic, but he glared anyways, more irritated with the situation than with her. She was worried, afraid of what was going to happen, and he really couldn’t expect anything else when it got right down to it. He’d never been in her position, waiting for people he cared about to reject or accept him, but he couldn’t blame her for it. He just wished he could be more help.

::Has been,:: she whispered in his head. ::Has put aside the big bad Riddick all day to be the one made of soft caramel.:: The calm left her voice to be replaced by something he couldn’t identify. ::She is grateful, but still wishes she could be herself and not this walking pile of nerves so that you could be _yourself_.::

Riddick snorted and traced a finger up her arm. Her heart was racing again, her breath just a little faster than usual as she tried to look normal and failed. She was right about one thing. It had been a hell of a day keeping her calm. From the minute they’d stepped out of Badger’s hole and back into the sunlight, she’d been jittery. Her confidence of the night before gone, her humor during the meeting with Badger faded; all of it replaced by the manic mood swings she’d been going through ever since. Fuck, if he’d known that’s what the waiting was going to do to her, he’d have figured out a way to stay back at Badger’s, or at least not pushed so hard to leave quickly. It stank, and the man had been beyond smug. He’d had to sit through the talk, watching the man’s goons drift over every so often and place small pouches of coin on the edge of the big metal desk. Some were passing the pouches among themselves even. He’d growled just a little louder each time, and River had laughed in his head as she explained. The bet had been twofold, and no matter that it was years since it’d been made. That she’d found a man while away from the ship had apparently had just as long of odds as whether or not she’d have the guts to bring him home to her family. Apparently, Badger knew her better than his men had thought, because he was raking in a shit ton of cash. It had made him want to snap the man’s neck, but River liked him and he seemed to like her ok; and for that he could have put up with badly hidden smirks and the knowing looks the guards were giving each other.

She’d even held it together through the market. He was starting to know the feeling of her burying herself in his mind for calm, and she’d climbed up into the tree and latched onto the animal so tight she almost merged with it. He’d wondered briefly why it was never the man she did that to, the thinking and planning half of himself, the half that mixed its logic with the animal’s instinct. She’d shrugged and muttered something so full of technical jargon that he’d just given up on an answer. It worked, that was all he needed to know.

And it had worked. Out past the docks and into the more established shops and stalls that lined the road. She’d found her fruit, stopped at a moneylenders of some sort and come out with a different pouch of coin than the one she’d entered with; and dragged him away before he could ask how she’d gotten it. A few more stalls, one full of used clothing, which she picked over and frowned at before finally holding it up to his chest and he realized she was looking for something for _him_. He grumbled, the teenage girl running the stall had laughed fit to burst, and River had poked and prodded at him till he accepted the inevitable. They’d left with a new set of cargos for him, along with a couple of new shirts, and they had certainly fit better than what he was wearing. He’d had only a few minutes of relief at having gotten off so easy when River had grabbed him by the shoulder and put her whole weight into stopping him. They were outside an actual shop, one with women wearing fancy dresses posed in the window, and for one moment he’d been afraid the nerves had finally broken her. That had gotten him a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and she’d maneuvered him into a spot near the door before he’d gotten a chance to argue. “Stay,” she’d grinned up at him, eyes too bright and smile too forced. “Needs to replace things he keeps ripping up.” His animal had laughed at him and the man calculated ways for this to go wrong with her out of his sight, but he’d taken another look at the fluffy white concoction bobbing in the window and nodded. She could take care of herself and he would hear her if things went wrong, through their bond if nothing else. She’d patted his arm, pecked him on the cheek, and trotted into the store.

She’d lasted all the way back to the ship after that, her mind tense but not overly so, still able to laugh at him and snap back when the man poked at her and the animal nudged at her with its head. But then she’d come out of their bunk and into the cargo bay after stashing his new clothes and the contents of the bag she’d refused to let him look into and it was as if a switch had been flipped. She paced, muttered, and reeked of lemons one second, steel and fire the next. Her fingers twitched, and he could feel the calculations run from her mind to his and back out again. She had come to him where he was standing, having just dropped the deck plate back over the pit in front of the infirmary where they’d hidden Kyra, taken one look over his shoulder at the room behind him and was abruptly gone. Halfway across the bay and up the crates there before he even registered the movement. While one part of him had been duly impressed, the other thought she should be climbing a tree in his mind, not crates in the real world.

She had stayed up there, wearing a path along the top three boxes in the stack, and hadn’t even noticed when he’d started the climb them, slowly, carefully. Not worried that he’d tip anything over, but that she’d notice and try to take flight, to run who knew where. To fight him. He’d pushed calm at her with every movement, offering her sanctuary in his head, but she didn’t notice. Steel was rising in the air and ramming its way up his nose, freshly sharpened blades that cut and burned, but she wasn’t giving off any of the other signals that usually meant he was about to collect a new set of bruises. He could smell the lemons too, but somehow it was the witch-hazel of her insanity that had spooked him the most.

He’d gained the top of the stack and she’d still been ignoring him, even when she’d walked right into him. He’d pinned her in his arms, knocked her feet out from under her, turned and dropped them both into a seated position on the crates. She’d only given him a token struggle, and soon enough he’d had his ankles locked over hers and both of her hands pinioned in his. They’d sat there he didn’t know how long as she panted in his grasp and he tried to reach her with both mind and voice. Eventually her breathing had stilled and apples and rain had crept back into her scent. He’d waited a few minutes more before released her hands and running his fingers up her sides. And that’s when he got his major surprise of the day so far. “River,” he’d asked carefully. “What are you wearing?”

The fabric of her shirt was the same as always, but under it he could feel a hard seam, and something that didn’t have quite as much give as clothes usually did. She’d giggled, an almost normal sound that had given him some hope for the rest of the day not going to shit, and lifted the hem of her shirt to show him. Grayish fabric of a middle shade, thick and heavy, had encased her like a second skin, and a thorough going over of her torso revealed that it covered her from collarbone to hips and down her arms as well. She’d laughed again when he gave her a look and leaned back. “Not the promised corset. May still get that.” He’d growled and she’d patted his knee. “Body armor.”

And just like that, things were serious again. He’d stiffened, and prodded at the public areas of her mind as he’d turned her to look her full in the face. “Body armor.” It wasn’t a question. And it was.

She’d nodded, and peat leavened with witch-hazel rose in the air, lemons giving way before them. “Came to tell you. Came to get you. But,” she’d shuddered. “Something wrong in the air. Not watchers, not hunters. Unsure,” and a hand had reached out to lace her fingers with his. “Calculations have too many variables. Got armor to stack odds. Can’t not go out, maybe is only the crew making her nervous.” Huge dark eyes had met his as charcoal joined the witch-hazel. “But he is right. Need to muddy the trail. Turning from Blue Sun helped, but so long as we have Kyra, will need to make a straight course for Haven eventually.” Her fingers had twitched and jerked, and he’d recaptured her ankles to keep her feet from doing the same. She hadn’t seemed to need an answer; it was as if the words were spilling from a well that had been uncapped and was overflowing. Her presence in his head was more like a small earthquake at the edges of consciousness than the firm grip that it usually was.

So he’d held her, done his best to draw her nerves into himself, although still didn’t know how or why it should work; and waited for the spell to pass. She was right. They still needed to do this. But he was getting fucking tired of running, and the urge to find the people who’d put this newest bounty on her head and rip them limb from limb was getting stronger every minute. At some point, he wasn’t sure when, she’d gone still. A check of her breathing and heart told him she’d worried herself to sleep. He’d taken her back to their bunk and laid her in the nest on the floor, the bed having been covered in her purchases. He’d fingered the new bits of lace a moment before moving on to the grayish shirt, sleeveless in this case, that she’d set alongside the new cargos and shaken his head. Domesticated, that’s what he was. Soft over a girl who could, when she was in the mood and had the jump on him, probably gut him and skin him out before he knew what was happening. At least there was always a chance at violence with her. Life would never be boring. He might need to go kill some deserving motherfucker in high command again if it ever got boring.

A hand slid up his arm, warm and wrong. Cheap perfume, more alcohol based then any scent he could name, drifted up and made him flare his nose in distaste. Yanked as rudely out of his thoughts as he had been, he glared down at the frazzle haired blond that had sidled up next to him. The effect was, as always, diminished some by the goggles he was wearing, and she was either too drunk to be warned off or too fascinated to be smart.

He growled at her for good measure before turning to check on River, whose presence in his mind was still jittery, but laced with steel. He could almost visualize her there, but the figure was that of the girl made of blades, not the waif that usually crawled up into the tree with the animal. She was staring at a vid screen behind the bar, shot glass in her hand forgotten as she mouthed the words of the dancing children trying to sell…something. “Hey,” he touched her arm. “You in there?”

“Aww, ya can see she’s ignor’n ya.” The blond again, and he nearly snarled as her fingers started to drift down his chest. “Now me, ah’ won’t be ignor’n ya at all. Pay ya all sorts of attention.”

A slim hand reached past him and wrapped itself around the woman’s wrist. Riddick blinked, but River was still ignoring him. Instead, she’d fixated on the blond, and hopped of her stool to get a better grip, tilting her head to stare intently at the stranger. “Not hers to touch,” the girl whispered, and the sound sent a chill down the back of his neck. He knew this voice. It was the one she’d used right before the Reaver fight, when she warned him not to push her for a reaction in the aftermath. The one she’d shrieked at him in as she tried to bury a shiv in the back of his neck when he hadn’t taken the advice to heart. It was laced with something else though, something cold and beyond inhuman. Mechanical almost. He pushed at her with his mind and found a wall where her consciousness should be. A wall made of blades that he couldn’t climb or bull his way through unless he wanted to come out just as damaged as she was.

The blond was struggling, trying to get free of River, but the girl had dug her heels in and wasn’t letting go. If it hadn’t been for the state of her mind, he would have been amused by the possessiveness she was showing, but as it was he could only set himself to trying to break her hold on the strange woman, one finger at a time. He did his best to stretch himself towards her mind as he worked, looking for a way past that fluid wall of sharp edges. “Ya want to let go? Think she gets the picture.”

“Oh, ah get it,” the blond was starting to get frantic now, and gave her hand a little jerk to try and get free. “She’s yours, you’re hers, got the picture. Can ah’ go now? Didn’t mean no harm!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Riddick worked a little faster to get River’s fingers unwrapped from her wrist.

“Blunt the knives, dull the blade,” River leaned forward and hissed like and angry cat in the woman’s face. “Follow the river but don’t you wade.” Witch-hazel, steel, and fire poured off of her as knives sliced at the edges of his consciousness. “Turn the mill to grind the bones; river, river go flowing home.”

Riddick pried the last finger free just as he felt the ocean of metal close over his head. The tinny sound of the commercial on the vid screen behind him was echoing oddly in his ears and he realized it was coming to him from River the way she heard it. Something in his bones hummed, and the animal within woke in a snarling rage. But he didn’t have time for that now. Rooting himself as firmly in the present as he could, he reached for the stench of the bar, the feel of the chair beneath him; anything but what was pouring into his head from River’s.

He heard her shriek “She touched that which is not her’s to own,” and felt her body flying past his. A glimpse of blond hair as the strange woman’s head snapped back, and then the world went red.   He managed one last thing before he lost himself, and the animal that forced the words out his throat in a roar. “ _River_!”

 

                ~HHYFN~

 

 

Mal was still in a bad mood. It had, in fact, gotten worse as the day went on. Between Jayne’s bitching about the job, Kaylee griping about the need for repairs, Simon’s worry over his sister, and the hundred and one other things that needed to be done before they could get this fresh cargo and get the hell off this planet, he was ready to start shooting. Something. Anything. Luckily Zoe had dragged him out of the ship before he either cold-cocked Simon or told Sierra she was never allowed to set foot on real ground again. That little girl had an unnatural love of planetside, if he did say so himself, and seemed convinced that if they’d just let her out to go look for her River, the Reader would show up lickety split. Poor kid had been taking the brunt of things the past few months. They’d nearly lost her once on Summerhome when she’d taken it into her head that River just _had_ to be there and gone trucking out of the cargo bay and into the forest nearby with nary a one of them noticing.

At the moment she was with Kaylee, who’d distracted her with a game that involved a pile of sticks and not much else. He wasn’t gonna ask. So long as they kept her on ship, he didn’t really care what they did to keep his goddaughter from noticing that her mother was gone.

“You’ve got the face again Sir.”

Mal gave his first mate a blank look. He knew what she meant, but it was fun to prod at her. Getting a rise out of her these past few years had been harder than ever. Unfortunately, she knew this game, and matched him stare for stare. Behind the two, Jayne snorted as he hopped out of the mule and gave the bar in front of them a once over. It didn’t smell any worse from outside than most bars did. Piss, vomit, dust and sour alcohol mixed with the smell of frying meat, peppers, and hot cooking oil. Loud music vibrated through the thin walls, and people in all stages of drunkenness milled around the entrance. Out for fresher air, out to empty the contents of their stomachs, out to take care of business that really should have gone on behind closed doors; even some on their way in. Mal wrinkled his nose. “Zoe.”

“Sir?” Zoe held out a stiff arm to keep a particularly greasy specimen of the male gender from getting any closer.

“I say we do this real fast.”

Jayne snorted, shouldered a couple half out of their clothes off to one side, and leveled his gun at the man when he tried to protest. Zoe shook her head, stepped over them, and set her heel to the hand that had reached for her ankle. “Can’t say I disagree with you sir.”

Ironically, the crush of people eased once they made it inside the door. Apparently, all those too drunk to pay for any more booze got kicked out to make way for people who could. A vid screen by the door was blaring a commercial for something, and the tinny voices of the children on the screen made Mal wince as he walked by. The music had paused as the audio system switched songs and they were just rounding the corner of the entryway into the main area of the bar when they heard a crash, several voices screamed, and someone roared “ _River_!”

The three froze, looked at each other, and clawed their way over the last few people between them and the main room to get a clear view of what was happening. It was hard to tell at first. Women were running, men were standing up to see who’d caused the ruckus, and there along the bar itself was a knot of people that couldn’t seem to decide which way they were going. The choice was made for them as the center of the pile flew outward, propelled by the fists and feet of a slight young woman with dark hair and a blank face. Mal cursed, Jayne groaned. “Not again.”

The Captain managed to drag his eyes away from the sight of their Reader, once again gone haywire in a room full of drunks, so he could meet the resigned eyes of his hired gun. “You remember them words?”

It was Zoe who answered. “Nope. Been too long. And Simon ain’t got around to teaching us yet.”

“Just ruttin’ great,” Jayne muttered, and turned back to the fight. Something had changed in the dynamic of it. One of the men on the floor had picked himself up and launched himself, roaring, at their girl. He wasn’t overly tall, but he was muscled along the lines of a brick wall and seemed to be giving as good as he got. River couldn’t keep him down, even after she’d knocked over every other would be attacker. Some had looked to be trying to get her under control; and some just plain wanted to be a part of the fight. None of them lasted more than a second or two against her. The man was taking out his fair share as well, using the moments between catching River by the ankle and throwing her over the bar to kick one man in the gut and lay the next out with a solid punch to the temple. Mal saw blood fly on that one, and figured the guy for dead before he hit the floor.

Then River came flying back over the bar, feet aimed at the stranger’s head and her legs wrapped around his neck as her momentum carried her onwards. Mal winced and felt Zoe stiffen next to him. But the man moved with her, rolling and twisting so that she landed flat on her back. He stilled for a moment, and although it was hard to tell with the dark goggles in the way, it almost seemed like something in his face cleared. His hesitation cost him, and River bounced up to fling a punch at his diaphragm with the added power that the movement had given her. He caught the fist, twisted her arm out of the way, and grabbed her by the throat with his other hand. “River,” he yelled in her face, and the veins were standing out on his bald head as he dodged another swing and dropped to kick her legs out from under her. She went down, rolled backwards, and popped right back up, spinning to catch one of the other patrons a kick in the jaw before refocusing her attention on the big stranger.

The three crewmembers of Serenity stared at each other. Mal felt his jaw open and close a couple times before he managed to force any words out. “You don’t think-” He didn’t know what he thought. Or didn’t think. What he _knew_ was that his Reader was alive and looked to be trying to kill someone who was a good enough fighter that she couldn’t take him down in one hit and move on. It was all sorts of ominous in his book, and while he didn’t really want to shoot her, he couldn’t come up with a way to stop her from taking out the rest of the bar before the big man finally got a firm grip on her and snapped that skinny little neck with his huge hands.

“Jayne,” the captain finally said, as he reached for his gun.

The other man grumbled, but peeled out of his jacket and handed it over to Zoe, along with his big Bowie knife, gun, and the other assorted bits of weaponry hidden on his person. “I git kilt,” he said finally. “’S on your head Mal.”

Zoe snorted and turned to dump the merc’s gear to one side, but Mal raised a hand, watching as the barkeep stood from his hiding place near one end of the long counter and raised a sawed-off shotgun to his shoulder. The noise of it boomed through the air, but neither the girl nor the stranger were anywhere near it. The man had grabbed the tub of lard trying to get a choke hold on him and tossed him into the line of fire; whereas River had leaped up on the near end of the bar, landed on all fours, and was running for the man with the gun. He seemed to realize what had happened about the time the gut shot victim of the blast dropped to the floor and the strange man lunged for River. He reached her before she got to the barkeep, grabbed her around the waist, and heaved. She went flying, landed on her back on the last table standing, and tumbled off the other side before landing in a crouch on the floor.

“Jayne, you gonna do something, best make your move,” Mal muttered out of the corner of his mouth as he started to sidle around the wall and towards the bar. “Zo, you stay here. Just in case.”

She nodded, mouth set in an unhappy line, but it was an order and she would obey. She’d dumped Jayne’s gear on a nearby chair, unclipped the snap on her thigh holster, and fingered her mare’s leg as Mal attempted his version of stealth and Jayne started forward. By the time the three at the door had gotten themselves sorted out, River had lurched forward, almost on all fours, and braced her hands on the floor to kick up at the man with both feet. He blocked, crossing his wrists in front of him to catch the blow aimed for his chest and sweep it aside. She rolled under his reaching hands, between his legs, and came up behind him, one of the abandoned guns on the floor in her hand now.

That’s when Jayne hit her, grappling the gun hand around behind her back and twisting to try and make her let go. She swung her other elbow up and caught him in the temple, and the tall merc grunted in pain before reaching for that hand as well. And then the stranger was there, roaring something along the lines of “ _Not yours_ ,” and River kicked out, using Jayne’s body as her brace to land a foot each in the man’s throat and face. He went down, snarling, and lunged back up inside her reach. Jayne was yelling in her ear, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she twisted her gun hand free and fired. The bullet went wide, scoring a line in the man’s shirt as it went on to bury itself in the wall. But she’d brought the hand up in a swing, as if she knew he’d dodge the bullet, and she struck him in the temple with the butt end of her gun just as his fist met her face and snapped it back into Jayne’s,.

And then there was silence, broken only by the cries and moans of the injured. Mal stared down at the bodies around him, some moaning, some bleeding, some not moving at all. Jayne was crawling out from under the two that had landed on him. Both the River and the stranger with the goggles were out, and he was almost afraid to check for a pulse on either. By the door Zoe was lowering her mare’s leg, face still wary, but ear cocked to the outside. Mal stilled. Sirens. Faint, but coming closer. He toed at the stranger’s foot and gave Jayne a hand up before leaning down to pull River out from under the big man. “Get him too,” he said, nodding at Jayne. “I want answers.”

Muttering about heavy lifting, big _hwoon dahns_ that had to stick their noses where they didn’t belong, and the ‘Verse in general; Jayne crouched, pulled the stranger into an awkward fireman’s carry, and started to stagger forward. Zoe stuck her head out the door, grabbing Jayne’s gear in one hand, and covering the outer perimeter with her mare’s leg in the other. “Clear,” she called softly, before propping open the door so the men could make it through. Five minutes later and they’d managed to wrestle their Reader and the stranger into the back of the mule. Another thirty seconds and they were gone, just before the authorities dropped out of the sky.

 

~HHYFN~

 

 **Author** **’s Note:  
** This is where I think I need to start marking this as 'books. Either splitting the story itself in the Archives, or marking 'book 1, book 2' like some epic fiction works do. Because believe me, there's LOTS more to happen. What do you think?

 

Huge thank you to everyone who reads, follows, favs, and most of all REVIEWS this story. I love you all. Love seeing the view count climb and getting notices about new comments. Makes my day so much happier!

 

Did it go as expected? This was actually the hardest chapter to write so far. I had it planned. I knew exactly what was going to happen. But the set up was a pain, ‘cause I kept having to remind myself that the characters themselves weren’t looking for this ending. They were looking for something entirely different. I thought about giving more time to the meet with Badger, but it just felt like rehashing the last conversation with him. As far as Riddick’s concerned he’s a bottom feeder who is just useful enough to keep alive, and the fact that he hasn’t sold River out so far helps. Other than that, our Furyan isn’t so much impressed.

 

Now we get into some of the most fun, and most torturous chapters, at least for me. I can’t just play with two people. Now I have to keep track of the whole crew.  Also, Dom Toretto’s burning through my brain too, and he keeps wanting to take a side trip to this version of _Serenity_. Can you imagine Riddick and Toretto meeting? OOF. As I write this, I actually keep as many mental references to Dom’s behavior in my head as I can Riddick’s. Aside from Vin playing them both, there’s that soft caramel center the two characters have under all the badassery, and it’s loads of fun to noodle around with.

As always, I don’t own any of it. Wish I did. But I don’t L

 

Translations:  
 _gou tsao de_ : Dog humping

 _tah mah de:_ Mother fucker

 _shu ma nyaow: S_ tinking horse piss

 _swai:_ Handsome

 _Shun-sheng duh gao-wahn_ : Holy testicle Tuesday

 _mah fen:_ Horse shit

 _feng le_ : Crazy

 _Bizui:_ Shut up

 _dong ma:_ Understand

 _hwoon dahns:_ Bastard

 

 

Cool water-calm, battle state

Sour fruit- drugs burning out of system

Citrus-fear/terror

Rain/apples- base scent

Charcoal-tipping off edge of sanity

Silk- joy, exaltation

Wet earth/peat- sadness

Warm vanilla-arousal

steel, the smell of a good blade freshly honed.-anger

Witchhazel-mindless killing, when she's a river of blades

Mint- anticipation

Simon's cooking-disgust

Malt-exhaustion

Bitter herb-hurt, emotional

Charcoal and fire-she is in the river, listeningorward/bow--Front

Aft-Rear/back

Port-Left as facing forward

Starboard-Right as facing forward

Head-Toilet/bathroom, etc

Galley-Kitchen

Hatch-Doorway

Bulkhead- Walls.

Slip/berth: Place to dock a boat, designated parking.

Hull-Outer shell of the boat/ship/whatever. Don’t breach this. **Fiery death!**


End file.
